UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


■ 


HOLIDAY 
SELECTIONS 

For  READINGS 

arid  RECITATIONS 

SPECIALLY  ADAPTED  TO  CHRISTMAS,  NEW 
YEAR,  VALENTINE'S  DAY,  WASHINGTON'S 
BIRTHDAY.  EASTER.  ARBOR  DAY,  DECORA- 
TION  DAY,  FOURTH  OF  JULY,  AND  THANKS- 
GIVING  &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& 


COMPILED  BY 


Sara     Sigourney    Rice 


philadelphia 
The   Penn    Publishing   Company 


149254 


OOPTBIGHT  1892  BY  THE  PeNN   PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1920,  by  Sap*  Sigourney  Rice 


*    • 


430  5" 


CONTENTS 


CHRISTMAS 

At  Bethlehem Sir  Edicm  Arnold    .......  I 

At  Christmas  Time 7t 

Christmas  Chimes,  The Susan  Coolidge 8 

Christmas  Day diaries  Kingsley    ........  9 

Christmas  Song Edmund  Hamilton  Sean  .   ....  24 

Christmas  Pictures l>.  li.  Williamson 34 

Christmas  Eve Violet  Fuller 35 

Christmas  Hymn,  A Richard  Watson  Gilder 3« 

Christmas  Morning Dora  Greenwell 39 

Christmas  Time Kate  Neely  Festellis 41 

Child  Angel,  The HannahiMore  Kohans 44 

Christmas  Tide Eliza  Cook 6ft 

Christmas  Tree,  The Lucy  Wheelock 59 

Christkindlein Friedrich  Ruckert 60 

Christmas  Day iline  Williams  Brotherto*  ....  63 

Christmas  Carol,  A ST.  Coleridge 73 

Chrietmas  Bells George  Lansing  Taylor 87 

Early  Christinas  Morning Mary  B.  Peck 27 

Echoes  from  Bethlehem 67 

Enchanted  Oak,  The 0.  Eerford 26 

First  Christmas  in  New  England,  The  .    .  Hezekiah  Butterworth 29 

Goblins.  The Charles  Dickens 68 

Joe's  Search  for  Santa  Claus Irving  Bacheller 13 

Kittv's  Christmas  Offering 60 

Letter  to  Santa  Claus,  A William  0.  Stoddard 81 

Old  Time  Bells,  The        48 

Reward  of  the  Cheerful  Candle,  The  .    .   .  Mary  V.  Wnrslell 37 

Santa  Claus'  Agent Hannah  More  Kohant 75 

Snow  Twins,  The Rev.  P.  B.  Power 17 

Shepherd- Boy's  Carol,  The 6« 

Under  the  Snow Robert  Collysr 31 

NEW  YEAR 

Coasting  New  Year's  Eve 9fl 

Dirge  for  the  Year Percy  Bysshe  Shelley ©7 

New  Year,  The Colton 93 

New  Year's  Chime,  A 98 

New  Year,  The Violet  Fuller 100 

Old  Year,  The Violet  Fuller 95 

Old  and  the  New  Year,  The Adelaide  Anne  Procter 103 

Pet  and  Her  Cat M* 

Rejoicing  ujkjii  the  New  Year's  Coming  of 

Age Charles  Lamb    .........  101 

Song  for  the  New  Year Eliza  Cook 91 

PAINT  VALENTINE'S  DAY 

Diana's  Valentine Robert  Bridges llfl 

It  Was  a  Lass Mary  E.  WUkm* 115 

Ladv  Mabel Alfred  Austin 110 

Meg  May's  Valentine I12 

Pierrot'*  Valentine MtlMtfa  Buchanan  Goodman   .    .    .  118 

St.  Valentine'!  Magic  Wand William  Watrrfield Ill 

St.  Valentine  *  Kay Edward  VeSmmu 11* 

Valentine'!  Hav Charles  Tsimb 108 

Valentino  to  a  Mail  0/ Worth  ...       .  .  Edward  A.  Ohvtrck 114 

ill 


If 


CONTENTS 


WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY 


Approach  of  the  Presidency,  The    ....  George  Washington  .......  121 

Birthday  of  Washington,  The Bufus  Choaie 129 

Eulogy  on  Washington       Robert  Treat  Paint,  Jr. 120 

Father  of  His  Country,  The Henry  Lee 123 

President  Washington's  Receptions    .   .   .  WiUiam  Sullivan  ........  127 

Washington Eliza  Cook  ...........  121 

Washington's  Kiss 124 

EASTER 

Back  Again Celia  Thaxter    .........  144 

Blind  Communicant,  The Mary  E.  Lee  ..........  161 

Crown,  The Bay  Palmer  ..........  154 

Dream  that  Came  True,  The Jean  Ingelow 146 

Easter  Altar-Cloth,  The Julia  H.  Thayer 137 

Flower's  Easter  Message,  The Emile  Poulsson 132 

In  the  Breaking  of  the  Day Francis  L.  Mace „  .  146 

Legend  of  the  Aspen,  A Bernhard Severin  Ingeman  .   .   .   .  149 

Mary  at  the  .Sepulchre Sir  Edwin  Arnold 133 

Miracle  of  the  Roses,  The Robert  Southey 140 

O  Christ,  Our  King 143 

Peace Julia  C.  B.  Dorr 13* 

ARBOR  DAY 

Chestnut-Tree,  The Jane  Campbell 168 

Garden  Scene,  A Marvell 169 

Heard  Ye  o'  the  Tree  of  Liberty  ?  .   .   .   .  Bobert  Burnt 164 

Laurel  Seed,  The B.  H.  Home 167 

Liberty  Tree 170 

Planting  the  Oak Hezelaah  Butterworth 160 

Spring Henry  David  Thoreau  ......  158 

Spring Margaret  Veley 159 

Three  Trees Charles  H.  Crandatt 157 

Tree,  The ta  Very 17S 

West  Wind Carmen  Sylva 163 

Wild  Flowers Sarah  Doudntg 172 

DECORATION  DAY 

Dead  Trumpeter,  The T.  K.  Hervey 177 

Dead  Volunteer,  The J   W.  Barker 178 

Dead  Comrade,  The Bichard  Watson  Gilder 186 

Decoration  Day Jane  Campbell   .........  175 

Fallen,  The John  Vance  Cheney 179 

His  Mother's  Song 183 

Memorial  Day Z.  F.  Biley 187 

Soldier's  Tent,  The Helene  Vacaresco 174 

Volunteer,  The Elbridge  Jefferson  Cutler    ....  185 

FOURTH  OF  JULY 

Advice  to  My  Country James  Madison 19* 

Fighting  Parson,  The Henry  Ames  Blood 2t<2 

Fight,  The Thomas  Dunn  English 195 

Free  America 18" 

Independence  Dav,  1798 Boyall  Tyler      193 

National  Flag,  The Charles  Sumner 192 

Our  Own  Dear  Land J  B.  Thonu 191 

Out  Land King 201 

gtars  and  Stripes,  The Lucretxo  G.  NohU 204 

THANKSGIVING  DAY 

Daisy's  Thanksgiving 214 

Jericho  Bob Anna  Eichberg  King 208 

Margie's  Thanksgiving E.  8.  Bumstead 216 

Polly's  Thanksgiving A.  C.  Stoddard 217 

Thanksgiving F.  R.  Havergal 220 

Twilight  of  Thanksgiving,  The  .....  WiUiam  D.  KeOy w 


Holiday  Selections 

FOR  READINGS  AND  RECITATIONS 


CHRISTMAS 


AT  BETHLEHEM. 


SO  many  hill-sides,  crowned  with  rugged  rocks ! 
So  many  simple  shepherds  keeping  flocks 
In  many  moonlit  fields !     But,  only  they — 
So  lone,  so  long  ago,  so  far  away— 
On  that  one  winter's  night,  at  Bethlehem, 
To  have  white  Angels  singing  lauds  for  them  ! 
They  only — hinds  wrapped  in  the  he-goat's  skin-* 
To  hear  Heaven's  music,  bidding  Peace  begin! 
Only  for  those,  of  countless  watching  eyes, 
The  "  Glory  of  the  Lord  "  glad  to  arise; 
The  skies  to  Maze  with  gold  and  silver  light 
Of  seraphs  by  strong  joy  flashed  into  sight; 
The  wind,  for  them,  with  that  strange  song  to  swell,— 
By  too  much  happiness  incredible, — 
That  tender  Anthem  of  good  times  to  be, 
Then  at  their  dawn — not  daylighl  yet,  ah  me! 
*  Peace  upon  Earth  !  Good-will  !"  sung  to  the  strings 
Of  Lutea  celestial.     Nay,  if  these  things, 

5 


6  HOLIDAY   SELECTIONS 

Too  blessed  to  believe  have  seemed,  or  seem, 
Not  ours  the  fault,  dear  Angels !     Prove  the  dream 
Waking  and  true  !     Sing  once  again,  and  make 
Moonlight  and  starlight  sweet  for  earth's  sad  sakel 

*  *  *  :|:  *  * 

What  was  it  that  ye  heard  ?  the  wind  of  Night 

Playing  in  cheating  tones  with  touches  light, 

Amid  the  palm-plumes  ?     And  ye  did  not  gaze 

Heart-startled  on  the  stars  (albeit  the  rays 

Of  that  lone  orb  shot,  sparkling,  from  the  East, 

Unseen  before)  for  these,  largest  and  least, 

Were  fold-lamps,  lighted  nightly ;  and  ye  knew 

Far  differing  in  glory  in  the  Night's  dark  blue 

Suddenly  lit  with  rose,  and  pierced  with  spike 

Of  golden  spear-beam.     Oh,  a  dream,  belike! 

Some  far-fetched  Vision,  new  to  peasant's  sleep, 

Of  Paradise  stripped  bare ! — But,  why  thus  keep 

Secrets  for  them  ?     Yet,  wherefore,  then, 

"  Rise,  and  go  up  to  Bethlehem,"  and  unpen 

To  wolf  and  jackal  all  their  hapless  fold, 

So  they  might  "  see  these  things,  which  had  been  told 

In  Heaven's  own  Voice?" 

Why  put  a  marvel  by 
Because  too  rich  with  Hope  ?     Why  quite  deny 
The  Heavenly  story?     High  cause   had  they  that 

night 
To  lift  the  curtain  of  Hope's  hidden  light, 
To  break  decree  of  silence  with  Love's  cry, 
Foreseeing  how  this  Babe,  born  lowlily, 
Should — past  dispute,  since  now  achieved  is  this— 
Bring  Earth's  great  gifts  of  blessing  and  of  bliss. 


FOK   HEADINGS    AND   EECITATION3  ? 

Whe:.jfore,  let  whosoever  will  drink  dry 
His  cup  of  faith ;  and  think  that,  verily, 
Not  in  a  vision,  no  way  otherwise 
Than  those  poor  shepherds  told,  there  did  arise 
This  portent.     Being  amid  their  sheep  and  goats, 
Lapped  careless  in  their  pasture-keeping  coats, 
Blind  as  their  drowsy  beasts  to  what  drew  nigh, 
(Such  the  lulled  ear,  and  such  th'  unbusied  eye 
Which  ofttimes  hears  and  sees   hid   things !)   there 

spread 
The  "  Glory  of  the  Lord  "  around  each  head, 
A  Light  not  morn-glow,  nor  the  grey  of  Night, 
Nor  lightning-flash,  nor  lit  like  any  light 
By  earthly  orbs  beheld,  for  Dusk  full  Noon, 
Shining  behind  the  Blue,  past  Sun  and  Moon, 
Flooding  their  minds,  rilling  their  hearts;  around, 
Above,  below,  disclosing  grove  and  ground, 
The  rocks,  the  hill,  the  town,  the  solitude, 
The    wondering    flocks, —  agaze,    with    grass    half- 
chewed, — 
The  palm-crowns,  and  the  path  to  Bethlehem, 
As  sight  angelic  spies.     And,  came  to  them 
The  "Angel  of  the  Lord,"  visible,  sure, 
Known  for  the  Angel  by  his  presence  pure 
Whereon  was  written  Love,  and  Peace,  and  Grace, 
With  beauty  passing  mortal  mien  and  face, 
Supreme,  majestical !  for  terror  fell — ■ 
With  worship,  —on  their  hearts,  the  writings  tell; 
So  that  the  Angel  of  the  Earth  had  need 
To  comfort  them,  speaking  these  words,  indeed: 


8  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

"  Fear  not !  For  behold  I  bring  you  Good  Tidingi 
of  great  joy,  which  shall  be  to  all  people/' 

« 

!<For  unto  you  is  born  this  day  in  the  city  of 
David,  a  Saviour,  which  is  Christ  the  Lord." 

"And  this  the  sign  unto  you !  Ye  shall  find  the 
babe  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes  lying  in  a  man- 
ger" 

So  high,  so  new,  so  glad,  so  comforting, 
"  Good  tidings  of  great  joy  to  you  I  bring !" 
And  so,  from  Heaven  that  night  th'  Evangel  fell : 
u  Beginnings  of  the  Golden  Times  we  tell ! 
Now  is  the  new  Law  opened !     Mary's  son 
Hath  opened  it,  and,  when  full  years  are  run, 
Peace  shall  be,  and  Good-will,  and  Mercy  shed 
Over  all  flesh  and  spirit,  quick  and  dead ! 
The  consummation  comes,  the  purposed  Bliss ; 
Earth  was  for  Now ;  her  glad  days  spring  from  this  P 

Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CHIMES. 


THE  Christmas  chimes  are  pealing  high 
Beneath  the  solemn  Christmas  sky, 
And  blowing  winds  their  notes  prolong 
Like  echoes  from  an  angel's  3ong ; 
*  Good-will  and  peace,  peace  and  good-will,'' 
Ring  out  the  carols  glad  and  gay, 


POR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  9 

Telling  the  heavenly  message  still, 

That  Christ  the  Child  was  born  to-day. 

In  lowly  hut  and  palace  hall 
Peasant  and  King  keep  festival, 
And  childhood  wears  a  fairer  guise, 
And  tenderer  shine  all  mothers'  eyes; 
The  aged  man  forgets  his  years, 

The  mirthful  heart  is  doubly  gay, 
The  sad  are  cheated  of  their  tears, 

For  Christ  the  Lord  was  born  to-day. 

Susan  Coolidge. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


HOW  will  it  dawn,  the  coming  Christmas  Day  ? 
A  Northern  Christmas,  such  as  painters  love, 
And  kinsfolk,  shaking  hands  but  once  a  year ; 
And  dames  who  tell  old  legends  by  the  fire  ? 
Red  sun,  blue  sky,  white  snow,  and  pearled  ice, 
Keen,  stinging  air,  which  sets  the  blood  on  fire, 
And  makes  the  old  man  merry  with  the  young, 
Through   the   short  sunshine,   through   the  longet 

night? 
Or  Southern  Christmas,  dark  and  dank  with  mist, 
A.nd  heavy  with  the  scent  of  steaming  leaves, 
And  rosebuds  moldering  on  the  dripping  porch  J 
One  twilight,  without  rise  or  set  of  sun  ; 
Till  beetles  drone  along  the  hollow  lane, 
&nd  round  the  leafless  hawthorns  Hitting  bati 


\0  HOLIDAY     SK  TACTIONS 

Hawk  the  pale  moths  of  winter?    Welcome,  then, 

At  best,  the  flying  gleam,  the  flying  shower, 

The  rain-pools  glittering  on  the  long  white  roads, 

And  shadows  sweeping  on  from  down  to  down 

Before  the  salt  Atlantic  gale :  yet  come 

In  whatsoever  garb,  or  sad,  or  gay, 

Come  fair,  come  foul,  'twill  still  be  Christmas  D&ys. 

How  will  it  dawn,  the  coming  Christmas  Day  ? 
To  sailors,  lounging  on  the  lonely  deck 
Beneath  the  rushing  trade-winds  ?     Or  to  him, 
Who,  hy  some  noisome  harbor  of  the  East, 
Watches  swart  arms  roll  down  the  precious  bales, 
Spoils  of  the  tropic  forests ;  year  by  year, 
Amid  the  din  of  heathen  voices,  groaning, 
Himself  half  heathen?     How  to  those  brave  hearts ! 
Who  toil  with  laden  loins  and  sinking  stride, 
Beside  the  bitter  wells  of  treeless  sands, 
Toward  the  peaks  which  flood  the  ancient  Nile. 
To  free  a  tyrant's  captors  ?     How  to  those — 
New  patriarchs  of  the  new-founded  underworld, 
And  count  their  flocks'  increase?     To  them  that  da* 
Shall  dawn  in  glory,  and  solstitial  blaze 
Of  full  midsummer  sun  ;  to  them  that  mourn, 
Gay  flowers  beneath  their  feet,  gay  birds  aloft, 
Shall  tell  of  naught  but  summer ;  but  to  them, 
Ere  yet,  unwarned  by  carol  or  by  chime, 
They  spring  into  the  saddle,  thrills  may  come 
From  that  great  heart  of  Christendom  which  beats 
Round    all    the  worlds :    and  gracious   thoughts   oJ 
youth  \ 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  11 

Of  steadfast  folk  who  worship  God  at  home ; 

Of  wise  words  learnt  beside  their  mother's  knee; 

Of  innocent  faces  upturned  once  again 

In  awe  and  joy  to  listen  to  the  tale 

Of  God  made  man,  and  in  a  manger  laid; 

May  soften,  purify,  and  raise  the  soul 

From  selfish  cares,  and  growing  lust  of  gains, 

And  phantoms  of  this  dream  which  some  call  life^ 

Toward  the  eternal  facts ;  for,  here  or  there, 

Summer  or  winter,  'twill  be  Christmas  Day. 

Blest  day,  which  aye  reminds  us,  year  by  year, 
What  'tis  to  be  a  man ;  to  curb  and  spurn 
The  tyrant  in  us ;  that  ignoble  self 
Which  boasts,  not  loathes,  its  likeness  to  a  beast, 
And  owns  no  good  save  ease,  no  ill  save  pain, 
No  purpose,  save  its  share  in  that  wild  war, 
In  which,  through  countless  ages,  living  things 
Compete  in  internecine  greed.     Oh,  God ! 
Are  we  as  creeping  things,  which  have  no  Lord? 
That  we  are  brutes,  great  God,  we  know  too  well: 
Apes  dainty-featured  ;  silly  birds,  who  flaunt 
Their  plumes  unheeding  of  the  fowler's  steps; 
Spiders,  who  catch  with  paper,  not  with  nets; 
Tigers,  who  slay  with  cannon  and  sharp  steel, 
Instead  of  teeth  and  claw.-— all  these  we  are. 
Are  we  not  more  than  these,  save  in  degree? 
No  more  than  these;  and  born  but  to  compete- 
To  envy  and  devour,  like  beasl  or  herd; 
Mere  fools  of  Nature ;  puppets  of  strong  lusts; 
Taking  the  sword,  (<>  perish  with  the  sword, 
Upon  the  universal  battle-field, 


Z2  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Even  as  the  things  upon  the  moor  outside  ? 

The  heath  eatd  up  green  grass  and  delicate  flowers, 

The  pine  eats  up  the  heath,  the  grub  the  pine, 

The  finch  the  grub,  the  hawk  the  silly  finch  ; 

And  man,  the  mightiest  of  all  beasts  ol"  prey, 

Eats  what  he  lists ;  the  strong  eats  up  the  weak,' 

The  many  eat  the  few,  great  nations  small; 

And  he  who  cometh  in  the  name  of  all — 

He  greediest  triumphs  by  the  greed  of  all ; 

And,  armed  by  his  own  victims,  eats  up  all ; 

While  ever  out  of  the  eternal  heavens 

Looks  patient  down  the  great,  magnanimous  God, 

Who,  Maker  of  all  worlds,  did  sacrifice 

All  to  Himself!     Nay,  but  Himself  to  One  ! 

Who  taughi  mankind  on  that  first  Christmas  Day 

What  'twas  to  be  a  man :  to  give,  not  take ; 

To  serve,  not  rule;  to  nourish,  not  devour; 

To  help,  not  crush ;  if  need,  to  die,  not  live ! 

Oh !  blessed  Day,  which  gives  the  eternal  lie 
To  self,  and  sense,  and  all  the  brute  within ; 
Dh  !  come  to  us  amid  this  war  of  life ; 
To  hall  and  hovel,  come ;  to  all  who  toil 
In  senate,  shop,  or  study ;  and  to  those 
Who,  sundered  by  the  wastes  of  half  a  world, 
til-warned,  and  sorely  tempted,  ever  face 
Nature's  brute  powers,  and  men  unmanned  to  brutes- 
Come  to  them,  blest  and  blessing,  Christmas  Day; 
Tell  them  once  more  the  tale  of  Bethlehem — 
The  kneeling  shepherds,  and  the  Babe  Divine ; 
h.nd  keep  them  men,  indeed,  fair  Christmas  Day. 

Orasles  Kingsley. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  IS 

JOE'S  SEARCH  FOE  SANTA  CLAUS. 

Permission  of  the  "  Cosmopolitan." 


A  STORY,  my  child?    Well,  there's  none  that  I 
know 
As  good  as  the  story  ahout  little  Joe. 
He  lived  with  his  mother,  just  under  the  eaves 
Of  a  tenement  high,  where  the  telegraph  weaves 
Its  highway  of  wire,  that  everywhere  goes, 
And  makes  the  night  musical  when  the  wind  blows, 
Their  home  had  no  father — the  two  were  bereft 
Of  all  but  their  appetites — those  never  left ! 
Joe's  grew  with  his  thought;  a  day  never  passed 
He  spent  not  in  hunger  to  make  the  food  last; 
And  days  when  his  mother  silently  went 
And  stood  by  the  windows — Joe  knew  what  it  meant. 
They'd  nothing  for  supper !      The  words  were  so  sad 
That  somehow  they  drowned  all  the  hunger  he  had. 
And  surely  God's  miracles  never  have  ceased — ■ 
Joe's  hunger  grew  less  when  his  sorrows  increased. 

When  the  coal  ran  out  in  winter's  worst  storm, 
The  fire  burnt  the  harder  that  kept  their  hearts  warm. 
Their  windows  revealed  many  wonderful  sights, 
Long  acres  of  roofing  and  high-flying  kites; 
At  sunset,  the  great  vault  of  heaven  aglow, 
The  lining  of  gold  on  the  clouds  banging  low, 
The  cross  on  the  top  of  St.  Mary's  high  tower 
Ablaze  with  the  light  of  that  magical  hour; 
And  still,  as  the  arrows  of  light  .-hinted  higher, 
The  last  thing  in  sight  was  the  great  cross  of  fire. 


14  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Each  day,  as  it  vanished,  the  history  old 
Of  Christ's  crucifixion  was  reverently  told; 
To  Him  the  boy  learned  to  confide  all  his  woet, 
But  oftenest  prayed  for  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
Since  those  that  he  wore  didn't  fit  him  at  all-— 
The  coat  was  too  large  and  the  trousers  too  small, 
And  Joe  looked  so  queer,  from  his  head  to  his  feetj 
It  grieved  his  proud  soul  to  be  seen  in  the  street. 
And  sometimes  he  cherished  a  secret  desire 
To  own  a  hand-sled,  or  to  build  a  bonfire; 
But  reached  cne  conclusion  by  various  routes — 
He  could  have  better  fun  with  a  new  pair  of  boots. 
He  thought  how  the  old  pair,  when  shiny  and  whole, 
Had  squeaked  in  a  way  that  delighted  his  soul, 
And  remembrance  grew  sad  as  he  strutted  around 
And  tried  hard,  but  vainly,  to  waken  that  sound. 
The  day  before  Christmas  brought  trouble  to  Joe, 
A  thousand  times  worse.     'Twas  a  terrible  blow 
To  hear  that  old  Santa  Claus,  god  of  his  dreams, 
Would  not  come  that  year  with  his  fleet-footed  team& 
He'd  seen  them.     Why,  once,  of  a  night's  witching 

hour 
He  saw  them  jump  over  the  cross  on  the  tower 
And  scamper  away  o'er  the  snow-covered  roofs, 
His  heart  beating  time  to  the  sound  of  their  hoofs. 
Not  coming  this  year?     Santa  Claus  must  be  dead, 
He  thought,  as  with  sad  tears  he  crept  into  bed. 
And,  as  he  lay  thinking,  the  long  strings  of  wire 
Sang  low  in  the  wind  like  a  deep-sounding  lyre, 
And  Joe  caught  the  notes  of  this  solemn  refrain— 
'*  He'll  not  come  again !  no,  he'll  not  come  again !" 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  15 

A-nd  oh !  how  the  depths  of  his  spirit  were  stirred 
By  thoughts  that  were  born  of  the  music  he  heard ! 
How  cold  were  the  winds,  and  they  sang,  in  their 

strife, 
Of  storms  yet  to  come  in  the  winters  of  life. 
They  mocked  him,  hut  mark  how  the  faith  of  the 

child 
Stood  firm  as  a  fortress,  its  hope  undefiled ; 
For  still  the  boy  thought  that,  if  Santa  Claus  knew 
How  great  were  their  needs  and  their  comforts  how 

few, 
He  would  come ;  and  at  length,  when  the  first  rays 

of  light 
Had  fathomed  the  infinite  depths  of  the  night, 
And  brightened  the  windows,  Joe  cautiously  crept 
Out  of  bed;  and  he  dressed  while  his  mother  still 

slept, 
And  down  the  long  stairways  on  tiptoe  he  ran  ; 
Then  out  in  the  snow,  with  the  will  of  a  man, 
He  went,  looking  hither  and  thither,  because, 
Poor  boy !  he  was  trying  to  find  Santa  Claus. 

He  hurried  along  through  the  snow-burdened  street 
As  if  the  good  angels  were  guiding  his  feet; 
And  as  the  sun  rose  in  the  heavens  apace, 
A  radiance  fell  on  his  uplifted  face 
That  came  from  the  cross  gleaming  far  overhead— 
A  symbol  of  hope  for  the  living  and  dead. 
A  moment  he  linked  at  the  great  house  of  prayer, 
Then  shyly  peeked  in  to  see  what  was  there; 
And  filtering  softly  he  wandered  a1  will 
Through  pathways  of  velvet,  deserted  and  still, 


16  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

And  saw  the  light  grow  on  a  wonderful  seen* 
Of  ivy-twined  columns  and  arches  of  green, 
And  back  of  the  rail,  where  the  clergyman  knelt, 
He  sat  on  the  cushions  to  see  how  they  felt. 
How  soft  was  that  velvet  he  stroked  with  his  hand  1 
But  when  he  lay  down,  oh,  the  feeling  was  grand ! 
And  while  he  was  musing  the  walls  seemed  to  sway^ 
And  slowly  the  windows  went  moving  away. 
What,  ho !  there  he  comes !  with  his  big  pack  and  all 
Down  the  sunbeams  that  slope  from  the  high-win- 
dowed wall ; 
And  Joe  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not,  if  he  died, 
When  Santa  Claus  came  and  sat  down  by  his  side. 
"A  tenement  boy !  humph  !  he  probably  swears." 
(Joe  trembled,  and  tried  hard  to  think  of  his  prayers.' 
He  lifted  Joe's  eyelids,  he  patted  his  brow, 
And  said,  "  He  is  not  a  bad  boy,  anyhow." 
But  hark  !  there  is  music ;  a  deep-swelling  sound 
Is  sweeping  on  high  as  if  heavenward  bound. 
And  suddenly  waking,  Joe  saw  kneeling  there 
The  rector,  long-robed,  who  was  reading  a  prayer. 
"  Provide  for  the  fatherless  children,"  said  he, 
"  The  widowed,  the  helpless,  the  bond  and  the  free." 
The  rector  stops  praying — his  face  wears  a  frown ; 
A  ragged  young  gamin  is  pulling  his  gown. 
M  I  knowed  you  would  come,"  said  the  boy,  half  in 

fright — ■ 
"I  knowed  you  would    come — I  was  watchin'  all 

night. 
Say  !  what  are  ye  goin'  t'  give  mother  an'  me? 
Le'me  see  what  'tis,  Santa  Claus-  —please  le'me  see  !* 


FOR   READINGS    ANP.   RECITATIONS  I? 

The  rector  looked  down  into  Joe's  honest  face, 
And  a  great  wave  of  feeling  swept  over  the  place  J 
And  tenderly  laying  his  hand  on  Joe's  head, 
He  turned  to  the  people  and  solemnly  said : 
"  We  pray  that  the  poor  may  be  sheltered  and  fed, 
And  we  leave  it  to  Heaven  to  furnish  the  bread. 
Ye  know,  while  He  feedeth  the  fowls  of  the  air, 
The  children  of  mankind  He  leaves  to  man's  care  f 
And  kissing  Joe's  face  the  preacher  said  then  : 
"  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.     Amen !" 
That  day  Santa  Claus  came  to  many  a  door 
He'd  forgotten  to  call  at  the  evening  before. 
Was  little  Joe  lucky  ?     Well,  now,  you  are  right, 
And  the  wires  sang  merrily  all  the  next  night. 

Irving  Bachelleh 


THE  SNOW  TWINS. 


JOHN  UMPH  knew  it  was  Christmas-time,  and  he 
knew  people  ate  roast-beef  and  plum-puddj  ng. 
He  knew,  also,  there  was  none  for  him  ;  but  he  did 
not  seem  very  much  to  mind.  He  was  almost  al- 
ways more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  the  sleep- 
ing draught,  which  was  supplied  to  him  from  the 
neighboring  hospital,  to  kill  the  pain. 

But  his  two  little  ones— Toby  and  Kitty— had 
all  their  wits  about  them,  and  at  the  present  mo- 
ment these  wits  were  being  exercised  about  keeping 
Christmas,  especially  with  reference  to  their  father. 
After  much  consultation,  they  determined  they  would 
2 


18  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

go  out  on  Christmas  Eve  and  try  whether  they  coulfl 
get  a  few  pence  by  singing  carols  near  some  of 
the  great  houses — even  a  few  pence  would  get  some- 
thing  for  poor  father;  of  themselves  they  did  not 
think.  A  couple  of  pennyworth  of  lollipops  did 
cross  their  minds,  but  in  such  a  fleeting  way  it  was 
not  worthy  of  being  chronicled.  But  what  carols 
should  they  sing  ?  The  thought  must  have  come  to 
an  untimely  end  had  it  not  been  they  had  a  friend 
outside  the  court. 

Tom  Elps  did  what  little  good  he  could;  and 
amongst  his  small  deeds  were  little  kindnesses  to  the 
children  Umphs.  Now,  Tom's  great  solace  in  life 
was  poetry-  or  rhymes.  He  read  poetry,  and  he 
made — -well,  whatever  you  choose  to  call  it.  Just 
now,  to  be  in  season,  Tom  Elps  had  been  carol-mak- 
ing, so  the  twins  Umph  were  just  in  the  nick  of  time 
to  get  their  wants  supplied. 

Tom  quite  approved  of  the  twins  Umph  going  to 
sing  carols,  provided  they  did  not  go  too  far  from 
home  and  get  lost,  and  he  read  out  several  of  his 
latest  compositions  from  which  to  choose.  The 
choice  finally  rested  between  two  : 

"  One  day  the  angels  went  a-singing ; 
Said  they,  '  Good  news  to-day  we're  bringing. 
Set  all  the  church-bells  ding,  dong,  ringing ; 
Jesus  Christ  is  born  to-day, 
He's  come  awhile  on  earth  to  stay; 
So  all  you  bells  your  loudest  play : 
Ding,  dong,  ringing.' " 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  lS 

The  other  which  was  chosen  was  shorter,  and 
easier  to  sing,  ran  thus : 

u  Jesus  Christ  is  very  good : 

He  came  on  Christmas  Day; 
And  Jesus  said  He  never  would 
Drive  any  one  away. 
Up  and  down, 
Through  the  town, 
Let  every  bell 
The  story  tell, 
That  Jesus  said  He  never  would 
Drive  any  one  away." 

The  Umph  twins  were  quick  enough  at  learning 
such  things  as  the}  had  the  chance  of,  and  they  were 
soon  fitted  with  both  words  and  tune.  And  out  oi 
that  carol  they  fondly  hoped  there  would  be  a  good 
Christmas  dinner  for  their  father;  and,  though  they 
would  not  allow  the  idea,  still  that  deceiver  and  flat- 
terer, Hope,  whispered,  "  And  perhaps  lollipops  for 
themselves." 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  great  gulf  in  London- 
town  that,  though  there  is,  in  one  sense,  a  tremen- 
dous distance  between  the  top  and  the  bottom  of  it, 
in  another  sense  these  two  extremes  are  very  near 
each  other;  hence,  we  need  nut  be  surprised  that  not 
far  from  where  Mr.  Startcomb  lived,  at  the  top  of  the 
gulf,  in  the  sunshine  and  fresh  air,  lived  John 
Umph,  cobbler,  down  at  the  bottom,  m  air  close  and 
■titling. 


20  HOLIDAY-    SELECTIONS 

It  was  therefore  no  great  venture  on  the  part  of  th« 
(Jmph  twins  to  present  themselves  at  dark  before  Mr. 
Btartcomb's  hall-door ;  not  only  before  the  door  but 
it  will  scarcely  be  credited  even  on  the  steps  under 
the  portico  itself.  Mr.  Startcomb's  house  had  an  ad- 
fantage  above  that  of  his  neighbor's,  in  that  it  had 
quite  a  little  garden  ;  moreover,  in  that  garden  stood 
a  great  tree,  and  that  tree  stood  right  opposite  Mr. 
Startcomb's  bedroom  window. 

Having  sung  in  vain  before  three  or  four  othei 
houses,  the  twins  Umph  now  started  their  carol  at 
Mr.  Startcomb's  hall-door.  Presently  the  thick  cur- 
tain which  covered  the  plate-glass  therein  was  cau- 
tiously drawn  aside  a  little  bit  in  the  centre,  and  four 
bright  eyes  peeped  through.  They  belonged  to  the 
Startcomb  twins,  who  were  playing  in  the  hall  at  the 
time.  Then  they  were  drawn  open  a  little  more  and 
the  twins  at  the  top  of  the  gulf  were  within  an  inch 
of  the  twins  at  the  bottom  of  the  gulf,  only,  as  of 
course  there  ought  to  be,  there  was  nearly  half  an 
inch  of  plate-glass  between  them.  But'  you  see  that 
half-inch  made  all  the  difference — at  the  Startcomb 
lide  was  a  bright  fire  in  the  hall,  and  carpet  and 
light ;  at  the  Umph  side  were  darkness  and  uncovered 
3tone  and  bitter  cold. 

The  Startcomb  children  could  hear  the  word*  oi 
the  carol  quite  distinctly : 

*  Jesus  Christ  is  very  good, 

He  came  on  Christmas  Day, 
And  Jesus  said  He  never  would 
Drive  any  one  away." 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  11 

Oh,  that  it  were  Christmas  Day!  They  should 
D  u'e  their  money — something  to  give ;  for  the  brilliant 
light  from  the  hall  showed  the  two  little  faces  outside 
were  wan  and  pale  and  thin.  But  the  Startcomb  twins 
would  run  to  their  father  and  say  the  carol  to  him. 
He  had  plenty  of  new  money.  This  they  knew,  for 
he  had  jingled  a  bag  of  it  before  them,  and  told  them 
their  Christmas  boxes  were  inside.  Perhaps  he 
wouldn't  mind  giving  them  a  little  bit  before — on 
Christmas  Eve. 

They  found  their  father  before  the  study-fire,  and 
rushed  in  to  him  as  children  will  lush,  and  repeated 
the  carol  to  him,  and  begged  for  the  Christmas  box 
now,  that  they  might  have  something  to  give  ;  but 
Mr.  Startcomb  was  furious. 

"  The  impudent  brats,"  said  Mr.  Startcomb  to  his 
children;  "I'll  soon  make  them  go,"  and  he  was 
jumping  up  for  the  purpose  when  he  was  caught  by 
each  leg  by  one  of  the  children.     They  kept  saying 

"And  Jesus  said  He  never  would 
Drive  any  one  away." 

"  Well,  if  Jesus  wouldn't,  I  will."  But  he  had  at 
Ust  to  give  in,  and  he  pulled  three  penny  pieces  out 
of  his  pocket.  "  Begone !"  said  Mr.  Startcomb  as  he 
gave  the  Umphs  the  money,  "  and  never  come  back 
here  as  long  as  you're  alive.  If  you  do,  I'll  give  you 
to  the  police." 

With  that  the  angry  man  slammed  the  door,  but 
not  before  the  twin  Umphs  had  perceived  the  twine 


22  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Startcomb  had  bestowed  upon  them  sundry  noda  and 
smiles.  Enriched  with  which  as  much  as  with  the 
money  tbe  twins  Umph  descended  the  portico  steps, 
but  not  to  go  away  at  once,  only  as  far  as  the  big  tree 
under  which  they  stationed  themselves,  hoping  by 
some  happy  chance  they  might  again  see  the  happy 
faces  which  had  given  them  kind  looks  on  that  to 
them  cheerless  Christinas  Eve.  They  intended  to 
remain  just  a  few  minutes,  then  make  for  what  they 
called  "  home,"  and  see  what  they  could  get  to  make 
father  a  Christmas  feast. 

There  stood  the  twins  Umph  close  together,  with 
their  backs  to  the  tree,  not  knowing  the  meaning  of 
u  minutes,"  when  spent  in  biting  cold,  to  those  who 
are  ill-shod,  ill-clad,  and  whose  systems  are  enfeebled 
by  long  want  of  proper  food.  A  treacherous  slumber 
soon  began  to  steal  over  the  weary  children.  They 
slept  as  they  stood,  leaning  backward  on  and  sup- 
ported by  the  great  tree ;  and  as  they  slept,  the  blood 
crept  more  and  more  slowly  through  their  veins. 

Mr.  Startcomb  had  not  slept  well  that  Christmas 
Eve.  Somehow  he  was  haunted  with  that  terrible 
thing  which  he  had  said,  that  he  would  do  what  Jesus 
would  not.  He  had  told  those  two  children  never  to 
come  back  to  his  house  as  long  as  they  were  alive; 
but  what  if  they  should  come  back  when  they  were 
dead  ?  Pooh  !  pooh !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ? 
That  might  do  for  a  ghost  story ;  but  he  was  a  man  of 
the  world,  and  did  not  believe  in  ghosts,  and  so  Mr. 
Startcomb  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep.  But  it  was  not 
for  very  long.     After  dozing  and  waking  on  and  oflf 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  23 

until  about  two  in  the  morning,  he  got  up  and  drew 
the  blind  and  looked  out.  Oh !  horror !  There,  un- 
der the  tree,  leaning  against  it,  were  two  white  ob- 
jects, the  outlines  certainly  of  children,  and  of  the 
same  size  as  those  he  had  told  never  to  come  back  to 
him  alive.  Could  these  be  those  children?  And, 
/  so,  whence  had  they  come?  Why  were  they 
that  shape  ?  Why  were  they  so  white  ?  The  hor- 
ror-struck man  staggered  back  to  his  bed  and  cov« 
ered  his  head  with  his  bed-clothes,  and  lay  shaking 
there  until  morning  came.  Then  when  the  serv* 
ant  came  he  found  his  master  partially  paralyzed. 

Ere  long,  the  gardener,  going  along  the  path,  saw 
the  white  figures  standing,  as  it  were,  under  the  tree, 
and,  going  up  to  them  and  seeing  they  were  snow- 
covered  human  beings,  called  the  police.  An  inquest 
was  held,  and  a  verdict  was  returned — "  Died  of  ex- 
posure " — and  much  perplexity  was  caused  by  the 
fact  that  each  of  the  children  held  an  old,  worn  three- 
penny piece.  Mr.  Startcomb  had  grudged  them  even 
a  new  one ;  a.-  he  must  give,  he  had  given  the  worst 
he  had. 

When  the  little  Umphs  went  forth  to  sing  their 
carol,  their  poor  father  was  in  worse  pain  than  usual, 
and,  by  way  of  easing  it,  he  ventured  on  double  the 
portion  of  his  sleeping  draught.  This  was  too  much 
for  him,  and  he  never  woke  from  the  sleep  it  pro- 
duced. 

Many  Christinas  Eves  have  come  and  gone  since 
that  eventful  one,  and  Startcomb'a  house  now  keeps 
festival  in  a  very  different  way  from  that  of  old.    On 


24  HOLIDAY    SELECTION8 

Christmas  Eve  great  preparations  are  made,  and  ou 
Christmas  night  what  they  are  made  for  comes  tc 
pass. 

Then  may  you  see  a  young  man  and  young  woman 
feasting  in  the  Startcomb  kitchen  as  many  children 
as  it  will  hold;  every  child  receives  a  new  three- 
penny piece  and  a  half-crown  besides.  Time  has 
softened  for  Richard  and  Mary  Startcomb  the  sad 
features  of  the  long-past  dreadful  Christmas  Eve. 
Year  by  year  they  commemorate  the  children's 
death,  and,  better  still,  day  by  day,  they  try  even 
more  and  more  to  live  as  lived  One  whose  carol  waa 
iung  £t  their  door. 

Rev.  P.  B.  Power. 


CHRISTMAS  SONG. 


CALM  on  the  listening  ear  of  night 
Come  Heaven's  melodious  strains, 
Where  wild  Judea  stretches  far 

Her  silver-mantled  plains ; 
Celestial  choirs  from  courts  above 

Shed  sacred  glories  there ; 
And  angels  with  their  sparkling  lyres 
Make  music  on  the  air. 

The  answering  hills  of  Palestine 

Send  back  the  glad  reply, 
And  greet  from  all  their  holy  heights 

The  day-spring  from  on  high  : 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  OJ» 

O'er  the  blue  depths  of  Galilee 

There  comes  a  holier  calm, 
And  Sharon  waves,  in  solemn  praise 

Her  silent  groves  of  palm. 

"  Glory  to  God !"     The  lofty  strain 

The  realm  of  ether  fills : 
How  sweeps  the  song  of  solemn  joy 

O'er  Judah's  sacred  hills  ! 
"  Glory  to  God !"     The  sounding  skies 

Loud  with  their  anthems  ring : 
"  Peace  on  the  earth ;  good -will  to  men, 

From  Heaven's  eternal  Kins  I" 


*o 


Light  on  thy  hills,  Jerusalem  ! 

The  Saviour  now  is  born  : 
More  bright  on  Bethlehem's  joyous  plains 

Breaks  the  first  Christinas  morn; 
And  brighter  on  Moriah's  brow, 

Crowned  with  her  temple-spires, 
Which  first  proclaim  the  new-born  light, 

Clothed  with  its  Orient  fires. 

This  day  shall  Christian  lips  he  mute, 

And  Christian  hearts  be  cold? 
Oh,  catch  the  anthem  that  from  Heaven 

O'er  Judah's  mountains  rolled  ! 
When  nightly  burst  from  seraph-harps 
The  high  and  solemn  lay, — 
"Glory  to  God  I   on  earth  be  peace; 
Salvation  comes  to-day  I" 

Edmund  Hamilton  Seara. 


26  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

THE  ENCHANTED  OAK. 

Permission  of  "  Life." 


BENEATHE  an  ancient  oake  one  daye 
A  holye  friar  kneeled  to  praye. 
Scarce  hadde  he  mumbled  Aves  three 
When  lo !  a  voice  within  the  tree 
Straighte  to  the  friar's  hearte  it  wente. 
A  voice  as  of  some  spirit  pente 
Within  the  hollow  of  the  tree 
That  cried,  "  Good  father,  sette  me  free." 

Quothe  he,  "  This  hath  an  evil  sounde," 
Ande  bent  him  lower  to  the  grounde. 
But  ever  tho'  he  prayed,  the  more 
The  voice  hys  pytie  didde  implore, 
Untyl  he  raised  hys  eyes  ande  there 
Behelde  a  mayden  ghostlie  faire. 
Thus  to  the  holye  manne  she  spoke: 

u  Within  the  hollowe  of  this  oake 
Enchanted  for  a  hundred  yeares, 
Have  I  been  bounde — yette  vain  my  teares? 
Notte  anything  can  breake  the  banne 
Till  I  be  kissed  by  holye  manne." 

*  Woe's  me,"  thenne  sayd  the  friar,  "  if  thou 
Be  sente  to  tempt  me  breake  my  vowe. 
Butte  whether  mayde  or  fiende  thou  be, 
111  stake  my  soul  to  sette  thee  free." 


FOR    READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  27 

The  holye  marine  then  crossed  hym  thrice 
And  kissed  the  mayde — when  in  a  trice 
She  vanished. 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  now," 
Exclaimed  the  friar.  "  my  hroken  vowe." 

"  If  I  have  sinned,  I  sinned  to  save 
Another  fromme  a  living  grave." 
Thenne  downe  upon  the  earth  he  felle, 
And  prayed  some  sign  that  he  might  telle 
If  he  were  doomed  evermore ; 
When  lo !  the  oake  alle  bare  before 
Put  forth  a  branch  of  palest  greene, 
And  fruited  everywhere  betweene, 
With  waxen  berries,  pearlie  white, 
A  miracle  before  hys  sight 

•ft  sjc  %.  sjs  4» 

The  holye  friar  wente  hys  waye 

And  told  hys  tale. 

And  from  thatte  daye 

It  hath  been  writ  that  anye  manne 

May  blamelesse  kiss  whac  mayde  he  canne  \ 

Nor  any  one  shall  say  hym  "  no  " 

Beneath e  the  holye  mistletoe. 

0.  Herforix 


EARLY  CHRISTMAS  MORNING. 


FOUR  little  feet  pattering  on  the  floor, 
Two  tangled  curly  heads  peeping  at  the  door, 
Hear  the  merry  laughter,  happy,  childish  roar, 
Early  Christmas  morning. 


28  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Two  little  stockings  fall  of  sweets  and  toys, 
Everything  charming  for  little  girls  and  boys. 
How  could  they  help,  then,  making  such  a  noise, 
Early  Christmas  morning  ? 

Down  beside  the  stockings  many  gifts  were  spread, 
Dollies,  drums,  a  cradle,  and  a  brand  new  sled. 
*  Haven't  we  too  many '?"  little  Nellie  said 
Early  Christmas  morning. 

Four  little  bare  feet  on  the  sidewalk  cold, 
Two  little  faces  with  want  and  hunger  old 
Peeping  through  the  window  where  those  gifts  un 
rolled, 

Early  Christmas  morning. 

"  Yes,"  says  John  to  Nellie,  as  he  spied  the  two. 
"  We've  so  many  presents,  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
I'll  give  half  of  mine  away.     Now,  dear  Nell,  will 
you?" 

Early  Christmas  morning. 

Two  little  famished  ones  into  the  house  were  called, 
Favors  heaped  upon  them  till  they  stood  enthralled 
Was  not  this  the  angel's  song,  "  Peace,  good-will  tc 
alll" 

Early  Christmas  morning? 

Mary  li  Peck. 


POB   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  29 

THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 

Permission  of  "  Youth's  Companion." 


THEY  thought  they  had  come  to  their  port  that  day 
But  not  yet  was  their  journey  done ; 
And  they  drifted  away  from  Provincetown  Bay 

In  the  tireless  light  of  the  sun. 
With  rain  and  sleet  were  the  tall  masts  iced, 

And  gloomy  and  chill  was  the  air, 
But  they  looked  from  the  crystal  sails  to  Christ, 
And  they  came  to  a  harbor  fair. 

The  white  hills  silent  lay, — 

For  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring, 

No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 

No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 

That  gray,  cold  winter  day. 

The  snow  came  down  on  the  vacant  seas, 

And  white  on  the  lone  rocks  lay, — 
But  rang  the  axe  'mong  the  evergreen  trees 

And  followed  the  Sabbath  day. 
Then  rose  the  sun  in  a  crimson  haze, 

And  the  workmen  said  at  dawn: 
"  Shall  our  axes  swing  on  this  day  of  days, 
When  the  Lord  of  life  was  born?" 

The  white  hills  silent  lay, — 
For  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  rinj£ 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  Cliristrnas  Da* 


2Z  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

"  The  old  town's  bells  we  seem  to  hear : 

They  are  ringing  sweet  on  the  Dee; 
They  are  ringing  sweet  on  the  Harlem  Meer, 

And  sweet  on  the  Zuyder  Zee. 
The  pines  are  frosted  with  snow  and  sleeL 

Shall  we  our  axes  wield 
When  the  chimes  at  Lincoln  are  ringing  sweet 
And  the  bells  of  Austerfield  ?" 

The  air  was  cold  and  gray, — 
And  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring, 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day. 

Then  the  master  said,  "  Your  axes  wield. 

Remember  ye  Malabarre  Bay  ; 
And  the  covenant  there  with  the  Lord  ye  sealed ; 

Let  your  axes  ring  to-day. 
Tou  may  talk  of  the  old  town's  bells  to-night 

When  your  work  for  the  Lord  is  done, 
A.nd  your  boats  return,  and  the  shallop's  light 
Shall  follow  the  light  of  the  sun. 

The  sky  is  cold  and  gray, — 

And  here  are  no  ancient  bells  to  ring, 

No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 

No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 

This  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day. 

u  If  Christ  was  born  on  Christinas  Day, 

And  the  day  by  Him  is  blest, 
Then  low  at  His  feet  the  evergreens  lay 

And  cradle  His  church  in  the  West 


FOR   READINGS    AXD   RECITATIONS  J 

tmmanuel  waits  at  the  temple  gates 

Of  the  nation  to-day  ye  found, 
And  the  Lord  delights  in  no  formal  rites ; 
To-day  let  your  axes  sound  !" 

The  sky  was  cold  and  gray, — 
And  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring. 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day. 

Their  axes  rang  through  the  evergreen  trees 

Like  the  bells  on  the  Thames  and  Tay; 
And  they  cheerily  sung  by  the  windy  seas, 

And  they  thought  of  Malabarre  Bay. 
On  the  lonely  heights  of  Burial  Hill 

The  old  Precisioners  sleep ; 
But  did  ever  men  with  a  nobler  will 
A  holier  Christmas  keep, 

"When  the  sky  was  cold  and  gray,— 
And  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring, 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day? 

Hezekiaii  BuTTEBWOnTH 


UNDER  THE  SNOW. 


IT  was  Christmas  Eve  in  the  year  fourteen, 
And,  as  ancient  dalesmen  used  to  tell, 
The  wildest  winter  they  ever  had  seen, 
With  the  snow  lying  deep  on  moor  and  fell 


•32  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

When  Wagoner  John  got  out  his  team, 
Smiler  and  Whitefoot,  Duke  and  Gray, 

With  the  light  in  his  eyes  of  a  young  man's  dream, 
As  he  thought  of  his  wedding  on  New  Year's  Day 

To  Ruth,  the  maid  with  the  bonnie  brown  hair, 
And  eyes  of  the  deepest,  sunniest  blue, 

Modest  and  winsome,  and  wondrous  tair, 
And  true  to  her  troth,  for  her  heart  was  true. 

"  Thou's  surely  not  going !"  shouted  mine  host ; 

"  Thou'll  be  lost  in  the  drift,  as  sure  as  thou's  born ; 
Thy  lass  winnot  to  be  wed  wi'  a  ghost, 

And  that's  what  thou'll  be  on  Christmas  morn. 

*  It's  eleven  long  miles  from  Skipton  toon 
To  Blueberg  hooses  'e  Washburn  dale: 

Thou  had  better  turn  back  and  sit  thee  doon, 
And  comfort  thy  heart  wi'  a  drop  o'  good  ale." 

But  what  cares  the  lover  for  storm  or  drift, 
Or  peril  of  death  on  the  haggard  way  ? 

He  sings  to  himself  like  a  lark  in  the  lift, 
And  the  joy  in  his  heart  turns  December  to  May. 

But  the  wind  from  the  north  br:"ngs  a  deadly  chill 
Creeping  into  his  heart,  and  the  drifts  are  deep, 

Where  the  thick  of  the  storm  strikes  Blueberg  Hill 
He  is  weary,  and  falls  in  a  pleasant  sleep, 

A.nd  dreams  he  is  walking  by  Washburn  side, 
Walking  with  Ruth  on  a  summer's  day, 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  33 

Singing  that  song  to  his  bonnie  bride, 
His  own  wife  now  forever  and  aye. 

Now  read  me  this  riddle,  how  Ruth  should  hear 
That  song  of  a  heart  in  the  clutch  of  doom 

Steal  on  her  ear,  distinct  and  clear, 
As  if  her  lover  was  in  the  room. 

And  read  me  this  riddle,  how  Ruth  should  knows 
As  she  bounds  to  throw  open  the  heavy  door, 

That  her  lover  was  lost  in  the  drifting  snow, 
Dying  or  dead,  on  the  great  wild  moor. 

"Help!  help!"  "Lost!  lost!" 

Rings  through  the  night  as  she  rushes  away, 
Stumbling,  blinded,  and  tempest-tossed, 

Straight  to  the  drift  where  her  lover  lay. 

And  swift  they  leap  after  into  the  night, 

Into  the  drifts  by  Blueberg  Hill, 
Ridsdale  and  Robinson,  each  with  a  light, 

To  find  her  there  holding  him  white  and  still. 

u  Nay,  nay,  they  were  wed !"  the  dalesman  cried, 
"  By  Parson  Carmalt  o'  New  Year's  Day  : 

Bless  ye !  Ruth  were  me  great-great  grandsire's  bride, 
And  Maister  Frankland  gave  her  away." 

*  But  how  did  she  find  him  under  the  snow  ?" 
They  cried,  with  a  laughter  touched  with  tears. 

:t  Nay,  lads,"  he  said,  softly,  "  we  never  can  know- 
No,  not  if  we  live  a  hundred  years." 

Robert  Collyer. 

3 


34  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

CHRISTMAS  PICTURES. 


THESE  are  the  merry  hours  they  say, 
The  loveliest  ones  that  come  and  go 
And  gild  our  lives  with  colors  gay 
As  those  which  in  the  blossoms  glow, 
Whose  skies  to  happy  eyes  are  bright 
With  Peace,  and  Joy,  and  Love's  own  light. 

I  see  the  boys,  all  smiles  and  glee 

Bear  by  the  green  and  fragrant  pme, 
But  there  are  those  whose  cheeks  are  wan,  ah !  me, 
While  theirs  are  ruddy  as  the  wine, 

And  their  young  hearts  have  had  no  share 
In  Life's  great  woes,  and  sad  despair. 

I  hear  the  swift  sleigh's  tinkling  bell, 

The  ringing  laugh  upon  the  road, 
And  see  the  boys  come  down  the  dell 
Beneath  their  bending  holly  load, 
For  this  is  Christmas  Day  for  all, 
In  cottage  low,  or  princely  halL 

And  there  is  gladness  everywhere 

This  day  of  all  that  have  been  or  to  be, 
It  swells  along  the  frosty  air, 

From  old  and  young  in  merry  glee, 

And  earth  and  sky  seem  bright  and  gay 
Upon  this  happy  Christmas  Day. 


FOR    READINGS     AND    RECITATIONS  86 

Charity  walks  to-day  abroad 

With  open  hands  the  poor  to  cheer, 
And  thankful  hearts  are  blessing  God 
That  His  kind  care  doth  thus  appear, 

When  cold  blasts  shriek  and  storm-clouds  lon^ 
To  brighten  thus  life's  winter-hour. 

Ob  !  happiest  day  of  all  the  year, 

This  long,  long  wished-for  Christmas  Day, 
t*st,  list,  the  peal  of  bells  we  hear, 
They  drive  all  sorrow  far  away. 
Father  above,  let  all  receive 
The  cheer  Thy  love  alone  can  give. 

D.  B.  Williamson 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


THE  pure  white  snow  is  falling  fast, 
O'er  hill  and  dale,  o'er  tower  and  town. 
The  wind  is  high,  a  rushing  blast, 

And  swiftly  Christmas  Eve  comes  down. 

Oh!  happy  time!  what  visions  bright 
Around  the  family  hearth  now  shine; 

All  hearts  are  filled  with  calm  delight 
On  this  sweet  eve,  this  hour  divine. 

Around  the  glowing  fire  they  meet — 
The  young  and  old,  the  brave  and  fair; 

The  blushing  maid  her  love  doth  greet, 
With  holly  in  her  shining  hair. 


36  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

The  aged  grandsire  fondly  smiles 
On  children's  children  at  his  knee, 

Each  pretty  word  his  thought  beguiles, 
From  days  he  never  more  may  see ; 

From  vanish 'd  friends,  who,  long  ago, 
With  him  did  keep  the  Christmas  time, 

Who  lie  within  a  shroud  of  snow, 
And  covered  by  the  frost  and  rime. 

From  them  the  wanderers  far  away, 
On  land  or  on  the  heaving  deep, 

Who,  looking  upwards,  long  for  day, 
And  turn  aside,  perchance,  to  weep, 

Alas !  that  any  should  be  sad 

This  holy  hour,  when  Christ  was  b<,yn! 

Shine,  light  of  God,  and  make  us  glad, 
And  quickly  rise,  fair  Christmas  morn ! 

Violet  Fuller. 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 


^PELL  me  what  is  this  innumerable  throng 

-L     Singing  in  the  heavens  a  loud  angelic  song  ? 

These  are  they  who  come  with  swift  and  shining 

feet 
From  round  about  the  throne  of  God  the  Lord  of 

Light  to  greet. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  37 

Oh,  who  are  these  that  hasten  beneath  the  starry 

sky- 
As  if  with  joyful  tidings  that  through  the  world  shall 

fly?— 
The    faithful    shepherds  these,   who    greatly  were 

afeared 
When  as  they  watched  their  flocks  by  night,  the 
heavenly  host  appeared. 

Who  are  these  that  follow  across  the  hills  of  night 

A  star  that  westward  hurries  along  the  fields  of  light  ? 

Three  wise  men  from  the  East  who  myrrh  and  treas- 
ure bring 

To  lay  them  at  the  feet  of  Him,  their  Lord,  and  Christ, 
and  King. 

What  babe  new-born  is  this  that  in  a  manger  cries  ? 

Near  on  her  lowly  bed  his  happy  mother  lies. 

Oh,  see  the  air  is  shaken  with  white  and  heavenly 

wings — 

This  is  the  Lord  of  all  the  earth,  this  is  the  King  of 

kings  1 

Richard  Watson  Gilder. 


THE  REWARD  OP  THE  CHEERFUL  CANDLE. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 


ONCE  upon  a  time  two  little  candles  lay  side  by 
side  in  a  big  box.     Both  were  pure  white. 
Said  one,  "I  wonder  wh.it  will  become  of  us?    Do 
you  think  we  could  be  meant  for  a  Christmas  tree?' 


1492J 


38  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

(For  you  must  know  that  to  be  put  on  a  Christmas 
tree  is  the  best  possible  tiling  that  can  happei?  to  a 
candle.) 

"  Of  course  not !"  said  the  other,  who  was  cross, 
"  If  we  are  meant  for  a  Christmas  tree  it  will  be  for 
iome  shabby  little  children,  see  if  it  isn't." 
1  "If  we  are,"  said  the  first,  "I'll  shine  my  very 
brightest;  for  the  eyes  of  even  poor  children,  with 
only  few  pleasures  in  prospect,  are  enough  to  rival 
little  candles  on  Christmas  Eve." 

"  If  we  are,"  grumbled  the  second,  "  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  will  allow  myself  to  be  lighted  at  all." 

Christmas  Eve  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Sure 
enough,  the  two  little  candles,  with  many  others  of 
blue  and  pink  and  yellow  and  red,  were  bought  for 
a  Christmas  tree.. 

On  the  day  before  Christmas,  while  it  still  was  day- 
light, some  young  girls  came  to  arrange  the  presents, 
and  make  the  tree  ready  for  the  evening. 

"  Oh !  what  a  lot  of  pretty  little  candles  I"  said  one 
of  them.  "  They  are  such  lovely  colors — all  except 
those  two  white  ones.  We  will  put  those  out  of 
Bight,  because  the  red  and  pink  ones  are  prettier." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  what  would  happen  ?"  said  the 
cross  little  candle,  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes;  but  wait,"  replied  the  other.  "Just  shine 
your  brightest  all  the  time." 

"I  won't!"  snapped  the  cross  one. 

When  evening  came,  ranged  all  round  the  tree 
«rere  happy  boys  and  girls.  Soon  every  bough  on 
ihe  great  tree  blossomed  with  little  lights.     Some  of 


*OR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  39 

the  flames  were  faint,  but  many  were  bright.  When 
the  little  white  candles  were  lighted,  the  cross  one 
just  sputtered  a  minute,  and  then  went  out.  The 
other  shone  so  brightly  that  a  gentleman  standing 
near  said : 

"  Oh  !  what  a  brilliant  little  candle — but  it  is  al- 
most out  of  sight  among  the  green  branches.  We 
ought  to  put  it  where  it  can  be  seen  better." 

"  Put  it  on  the  very  tip-top,"  said  a  little  lady. 

And  that  is  where  they  did  put  it — on  the  very 
tip-top  of  the  tree,  where  it  nodded  and  gleamed  in 
answer  to  the  smiling  faces  all  around  it. 

Mary  V.  Worstell. 


CHRISTMAS  MORNING. 


*r\  OOD  Christians  rise,  this  is  the  morn 
vJ     When  Christ  the  Saviour,  He  was  bom, 

All  in  a  stable  so  lowly, 

At  Bethlehem  in  Galilee. 
Rejoice!  our  Saviour,  He  was  born, 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning." 

•ft  *P  *P  *P  ^ 

If  ye  would  hear  the  angels  sing, 
"  Peace  on  earth  and  mercy  mild." 
Think  of  Him  who  was  once  a  child, 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

If  you  would  hear  the  angels  sing, 

Christians,  see  ye  let  each  door 


40  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Stand  wider  than  ever  it  stood  before, 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

Rise  and  open  wide  the  door, 

Christians,  rise !  the  world  is  wide, 
And  many  there  be  that  stand  outside, 

Yet  Christmas  comes  in  the  morning. 

If  ye  would  hear  the  angels  sing, 

Rise  and  spread  your  Christmas  fare, 
'Tis  merrier  still  the  more  that  share, 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

If  ye  would  hear  the  angels  sing, 

Rise,  and  light  your  Christmas  fires 
And  see  that  ye  pile  the  logs  still  higher. 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning., 

Rise  and  light  your  Christmas  fires, 
Christians,  rise !  the  world  is  old 
And  time  is  weary  and  worn  and  cold 

Yet  Christmas  comes  in  the  morning. 

If  ye  would  hear  the  angels  sing, 

Rise  and  spice  your  wassail  bowl 

With  warmth  for  body  and  heart  and  soul, 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

If  ye  would  hear  the  angels  sing, 

Christians,  think  on  Him  who  died, 
Think  of  your  Lord,  the  crucified, 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  41 

Spice  it  warm,  and  spice  it  strong, 

Christians,  rise '  the  world  is  gray, 

And  rough  is  the  road,  and  short  is  the  day. 

Yet  Christmas  comes  in  the  morning. 

Dora  Greenwell. 


CHRISTMAS-TIME. 


THE  happy  Christmas-time  draws  near; 
Full  are  the  hours  of  glad  expectancy ; 
Dull  cares  and  common  for  a  while  have  flown, 
And  through  the  household-music  creeps  a  tone 

Of  hushed  and  hidden  glee  ; 
For  still  the  blessed  joy-time  of  the  year 
Is  sacred  unto  thoughts  of  all  the  heart  holds  dear. 

The  children  run  about, 

Trying  vainly  to  keep  out 
The  mischievous  shining  from  their  eyes 

That  might  reveal  the  tale — 
Full  of  some  wonderful  surprise, 
Which  none  must  venture  even  to  surmise 

Till  Christmas  lifts  the  veil. 
The  spirit  of  loving  industry, 
Of  happy  secrets,  and  of  merry  mystery, 
Fills  all  the  house,  till  every  guarded  room 
With  hidden  flowers  of  love  begins  to  bloom. 

Even  the  little  ones  are  busy  too, 

There  is  so  much  to  do  ! 

They  fetch  and  carry,  flutter  here  and  there, 


42  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

With  most  important  air, 

And  choose  their  longest  stockings  out, 

With  never  a  thought  of  doubt, 

The  good  Kriss  Kringle's  bounty  to  receive. 

All  things  they  hope,  all  things  believe ; 

May  God  keep  whole 

The  sweet  child-trust  in  each  young,  innocent  sou).! 

The  dear  house-mother  smiles, 
And  does  not  seem  to  see, 

Herself  entangled  in  the  wiles 
Of  Christmas  mystery. 
With  well-feigned  sober  mien, 
And  lip  and  brow  serene, 
Her  cunningest  devices  she  applies 
To  slip  the  scrutiny  of  eager  eyes, 
And  hides  away  upon  the  closet-shelf 
Parcels  of  shape  and  size 
That  could  have  only  come  from  Santa  Claus  himself 

The  busy  hum  pervades 

Kitchen  as  well  as  hall, 
And  dainties  hidden  from  the  schoolboy's  raids 

Come  forth  in  answer  to  the  Christmas  call. 

Odors  of  spice  and  plum 

From  the  well-filled  pantry  come ; 

And  sounds  suggestive  (as  the  eggs  they  beat, 

Now  chop  the  apples)  tempt  the  little  feet, 

Brighten  the  laughing  eyes, 

And  set  small  mouths  a-watering 

For  Christmas  cake  and  pies. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  41 

The  blessed  day  draws  nigh  ; 

The  ruddy  lads  come  in,  their  arms  piled  high 

With  Christmas  boughs  of  cedar,  fir,  and  pine, 

Red-berried  holly  and  green  ivy-vine. 

The  incense-like  perfume 

Hallows  each  happy  room. 

The  house  is  beautiful  with  Christmas  cheer  J 

It  is  the  gay  time  of  the  year  1 

0  Christ !  who  on  this  Christmas  morn, 
Long  years  ago, 

While  angels  sang  the  chime 
For  the  first  Christmas-time, 
Of  a  poor  maid  wast  born, 

And  laid'st  Thy  kingly  head 
Beneath  the  humble  shed, 
Where  sad-eyed  oxen  feed  on  bruised  corn, 
And  milch-kine  for  their  weanlings  low, — 

0  Christ !  be  pitiful  this  day ! 
Let  none  un-Christmassed  go ; 

Let  no  poor  wretch  in  vain  for  help  implore, 

Let  none  from  any  door, 

Un wanned,  unfed, 

No  kind  word  said, 

Helpless,  be  turned  away. 

For  Thine  own  sake,  we  pray ! 

Kate  Neely  Fe8Tellbsl 


44  HOLIDAY    SELECTION 

THE  CHILD  ANGEL, 

Permission  of  Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 


A  LITTLE  old  fellow  was  peering  about-- 
He  dressed  rather  shabby,  but  looked  well  and 
stout, 
Except  that  his  countenance  wore  a  tired  look, 
So  busy  he'd  been  in  his  far-away  nook ; 
In  work  to  his  elbows  day  in  and  day  out — 
No  danger  of  him  being  laid  up  with  gout— • 
But  what  kind  of  labor  no  one  had  he  told, 
He  looked  as  if  rags  and  old  iron  he  sold, 
Yet  no  one  had  ever  once  seen  him  stoop  down 
And  pick  up  such   old  things  as  those  from   the 

ground ; 
Although  he'd  been  hanging  about  now  for  days, 
And  looking  and  acting  in  many  queer  ways ; 
To-day  he  was  listening  in  people's  back-yards 
And  seemed  to   be  writing   some  names  down  on 

cards ; 
He  peeped  in  at  windows  when  no  one  was  near, 
And  sometimes  he  put  to  the  keyholes  his  ear; 
He  looked  rather  simple,  but  quiet  and  good, 
And  never  asked  questions  nor  begged  any  food ; 
So  careful  he  was  not  to  cough  or  to  sneeze, 
He'd  stoop  behind  fences  or  dodge  behind  trees 
If  any  one  watched  him  from  window  or  door, 
And  hastily  left  for  new  fields  to  explore. 
But  now  it  was  nearing  the  close  of  the  day, 
And  children  were  out  for  ar  exercise  play ; 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  4A 

The  days  in  the  winter  are  short,  at  their  beet, 
But  a  romp  they  must  have  ere  retiring  to  rest. 
Away  in  the  east  is  a  dim  little  star, 
That  warns  them  dark  night  is  advancing  afar ; 
And  so  with  a  will  they  all  frolicked  and  ran, 
Till  some  one  discovered  the  little  old  man ; 
They  one  and  all  hailed  him  with  riotous  shout, 
The  boys  and  girls  hastily  gathering  about ; 
He  tried  to  escape  them,  ran  into  a  court, 
But  on  they  went  after  him,  bent  on  some  sport; 
One  naughty  boy  at  him  some  snow  roughly  threw— 
The  little  man  muttered,  "  Ah  !  if  you  but  knew !" 
"Shame!  shame  1"  the  rest  cried  out,  "Don't  do  that 

again ; 
We  can  have  lots  of  fun  without  giving  him  pain !" 
So  now  all  surround  him  and  gently  they  teased; 
One  playfully  from  him  his  knotty  cane  seized, 
One  stuck  an  old  quill  in  his  hat's  broken  brim ; 
He  made  no  resistance,  but  looked  rather  grim ; 
They  tried  to  unbind  an  immense  heavy  pack 
That  securely  was  strapped  on  his  old,  crooked  back 
They  strove  to  unbutton  a  large,  brownish  coat 
That  covered  his  form  from  his  heels  to  his  throat; 
They  pin  strips  of  paper  all  over  his  back, 
And  a  placard,  "  For  Sale,"  upon  him  they  tack; 
And  he  remained  patient  and  quiet  through  all, 
Till  some  one  again  hit  him  with  a  snow-ball. 
Now,  this  was  as  naughty  as  naughty  could  be, 
And  greatly  it  pained  him  such  conduct  to  see; 
Twas  wonderful  how  the  old  man  kept  so  still, 
He  ought  to  Save  boxed  that  hoy's  ears  with  a  will; 


i$  HOLIDAY     SELECTIONB 

And  all  the  g*»od  children  were  thinking  the  Rama, 
For  they  with  one  impulse  in  anger  exclaim, 
"  For  shame !  you  bad  boy,  to  so  roughly  entreat 
A  destitute  stranger  alone  in  the  street; 
Maybe  he  has  neither  a  friend  nor  a  home ; 
If  you  know  what's  best,  you'll  just  let  him  alone  1" 
Then,  seeing  how  pleased  grew  his  sad  countenance 
They  drew  somewhat  nearer;   to  his  side  they  ad- 
vance 
And  stroked  his  fat  fingers,  took  off  all  the  things 
The  boys  had   pinned  on  him,  still  calling  them 

"  wings  " ; 
And  here,  once  again,  he  repeated  quite  low, 
u  I  wonder  what  each  one  will  say  when  they  know  f 
And  now  they  were  silent,  no  one  spoke  a  word ; 
So,  thinking  perhaps  that  now  he  could  be  heard, 
Said  he :  "  'T?s  the  privilege  of  every  old  man 
To  tell  a  good  story  whenever  he  can, 
And  if  you'll  be  quiet  a  moment  or  two, 
E'll  tell  you  one  that  I  believe  is  quite  true." 
Now  all  were  attentive,  with  eyes  and  with  ears, 
Forgetting  their  play  and  neglecting  their  jeers; 
His  voice  was  as  sweet  as  the  tones  of  a  bell, 
When  for  the  first  time  on  their  ears  it  fell, 
As  he  opened  his  lips  this  tale  to  impart, 
The  moral  of  which  he  hoped,  would  touch  ererj 
heart. 

"A  poor  little  girl  on  a  door-step  sat, 
Carefully  feeding  some  bread  to  her  cat ; 
A  nice  slice  of  sponge-cake  lay  on  her  knee, 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  *? 

Some  one  had  given  her  for  her  own  tea ; 

When  little  kitty  for  more  Dread  would  mew, 

Sweetly  she'd  tell  her,  '  I'm  hungry,  too ; 

This  piece  of  sweet  cake,  you  know  is  my  treat, 

For  little  have  I  of  such  food  to  eat !' 

When  kitty's  last  morsel  was  swallowed  from  sight, 

Grace  opened  her  mouth  to  take  a  big  bite 

Of  her  own  supper,  when,  raising  her  eyes, 

She  saw  standing  near  a  child  her  own  size, 

But  oh  !   so  much  poorer !    his  clothes  were  all  torn, 

His  feet  almost  barefoot,  his  shoes  were  so  worn; 

He  spoke  in  a  whisper,  so  low  and  so  sweet, 

'  I  am  very  hungry,  please  give  me  to  eat.' 

She  offered  him  quickly  all  that  she  had, 

And  then  very  sweetly  to  him  she  said: 

1  Not  only  my  supper,  but  take  kitty,  too, 

So  you'll  have  some  one  nice  to  love  you.' 

The  kind  words  had  scarcely  escaped  from  her  lips, 

When,  the  boy  disappearing,  in  the  same  place  there 

sits 
An  angel — so  lovely,  so  radiantly  white — ■ 
Who  kissed  her  white  forehead  and  vanished  from 

sight. 
And  so,  little  children,  hereafter  beware 
How  you're  treating  a  stranger;  you  may  unaware 
Abuse  God's  dear  angels,  or — maybe — now  think — 
Some  one  else  of  importance!''  he  said,  with  a  wink. 
One  sweet  little  maiden,  quite  timid  and  mild, 
Asked :  "Are  you  an  angel  ?"     "  Well,  no,  my  dear 

child,  ' 
For  you  see  I've  no  wings  as  they  have  to  fly, 


48  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

And  yet,  let  me  tell  you,  I  live  in  the  sky !" 
"  Oh  !  please,  sir,  do  tell  us  now  what  is  your  name 
These  rude  boys,  I  fear,  are  sadly  to  blame." 
He  straightened  himself  to  remarkable  size, 
Which  made  them  all  open  their  eyes  in  surprise; 
His  face,  that  before  had  looked  furrowed  and  old, 
Now  seemed  very  ruddy  and  fresh-like  and  bold  j 
He  threw  back  his  mantle,  disclosing  to  view 
A  beautiful  overcoat  glistening  like  dew ; 
Then  laying  his  finger  one  side  of  his  nose, 
He  tried  to  look  solemn — and  did,  I  suppose — 
Then  waited,  what  seemed  to  them  all  a  long  pause, 
Before  he  said,  softly,  "  My  name's  Santa  Claus  !" 
If  you  could  have  heard  then  the  wailing  and  woe, 
The  girls'  "  There !   we  told  you !"  and  the  boys' 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!" 
I  think  you'd  have  felt  just  as  sorry  as  he, 
When  down  at  his  feet  they  knelt  penitently, 
And  promised  him,  over  and  over  again, 
They'd  never  make  sport  any  more  of  old  men. 
"  Well,  then,  I'll  forgive  you  this  time !  wipe  your  eye&j 
And  to-night  be  prepared  for  a  greater  surprise." 

Hannah  More  Kohans. 


THE  OLD-TIME  BELLS. 


OH !  bells  of  joy,  how  sweet  they  ring, 
Chiming  bells,  Christmas  bells, 
Good  news  for  all  once  more  they  bring, 
Happy  Christmas  bells ; 


is  FOR  READINGS    AND   RECTTATTOMS  41 

Floating  in  the  morning  beam, 
Gliding  o'er  the  silent  stream, 
Turning  sadness  into  gladness 
With  their  tuneful  chime. 

Hark !  the  old-time  bells, 
We  love  the  greeting  of  the  old-time  bells, 
A.  Saviour's  birth  repeating,  hear  the  old-time  bella 

Oh  !  joyful  tidings,  joyful  tidings, 

Rolling  on,  rolling  on, 

Happy  Christmas  bells. 

Oh  f  bells  of  peace  from  God  above, 

Silver  bells,  Christmas  bells, 
Kf'ry  tone  is  full  of  love, 
Happy  Christmas  bells  ; 

Stealing  o'er  the  vales  along, 
Waking  all  the  world  to  song, 
Sweetly  ringing,  pleasure  bringing, 
In  their  tuneful  chime. 

Hark !  the  old-time  bells, 
We  love  the  happy  greeting  of  the  old-time  bells, 
A  Saviour's  birth  repeating,  hear  the  old-time  bella 

Oh  !  joyful  tidings,  joyful  tidings, 

Rolling  on,  rolling  on, 

Happy  Christmas  bells. 

Oh  !  bells  of  hope  to  souls  oppressed, 

Merry  bells,  Christmas  bells, 
Hear  them  tell  of  tranquil  rest, 

Happy  Christmas  bells. 
4 


BO  &OLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Cheerily  they  still  resound, 
Cheerily  we  catch  the  sound, 
Glory  in  the  highest,  glory  I 
Oh  I  the  tuneful  chime. 

Hark !  the  old-time  bells, 
We  love  the  happy  greeting  of  the  old-time  belli, 
A.  Saviour's  birth  repeating,  hear  the  old-time  bella 

Oh !  joyful  tidings,  joyful  tidings, 

Rolling  on,  rolling  on, 

Happy  Christmas  bells. 


KITTY'S  CHRISTMAS  OFFERING. 


IT  was  the  prettiest,  daintiest  little  bit  of  muslin, 
lace,  and  embroidery  ever  put  together,  with 
Kitty's  own  name  in  one  corner,  all  covered  about 
with  tiny  leaves,  flowers,  and  tendrils  which  seemed 
as  if  they  must  have  been  worked  by  fairy  fingers, 
and  it  came  tied  down  by  pink  ribbons  in  "  Oh  !  such 
a  lovely  box,  with  four  little  boys,  without  much 
clothes  on  them,  'cept  wings,  carrying  Christmas 
greens." 

For  was  not  this  Christmas  morning,  and  had  not 
Kitty,  when  asked  by  grandmamma  a  month  sinsa 
what  she  most  wanted  for  a  Christmas  present,  an 
ewered,  "A  'broidered  handkerstuff  ?" 

Yes,  grandmamma  was  the  good  fairy  whose  skill- 
ful fingers  had  worked  the  dainty  trifle,  and  it  would 
be  hard  to  tell  what  pains  those  loving  fingers  would 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  5l 

not  take  to  please  the  little  maiden  whose  winsome 
looks  and  words  found  their  way  to  all  hearts. 

A  proud  and  happy  child  was  Kitty  when  she  re- 
ceived that  wonderful  Christmas  gift,  and  when  she 
was  dressed  for  church  and  nurse  had  arranged  the 
little  handkerchief  in  her  mite  of  a  pocket  so  the 
lace  edge  and  emhroidered  name  might  show,  she 
felt  rather  finer  and  more  elegantly  dressed  than  she 
had  ever  felt  in  her  little  life  before. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  that  Kitty  had  been  to 
church.  For  three  or  four  Sundays  now  she  had  gone 
with  her  father  and  mother,  and  so  far  she  had  been 
as  quiet  and  well-behaved  as  any  little  five-year-old 
girl  could  be.  But  whether  it  was  the  new  handker- 
chief or  all  the  other  unusual  excitements  of  the  day, 
Kitty  was  far  more  restless  that  Christmas  morning 
than  she  had  ever  been  before,  and  by  and  by  she 
scrambled  to  her  feet  upon  the  seat,  turning  so  as  to 
face  the  congregation.  Seeing  this  kept  the  little 
woman  quiet  for  a  time,  her  mamma  let  her  stand 
there  during  reading  of  the  Scriptures,  and  Kitty 
amused  herself  with  gazing  about  her. 

Suddenly  she  spied  several  pews  off,  a  gentleman 
who  often  came  to  her  papa's  house,  and  whom  she 
liked  very  much. 

"  Mr.  James  never  saw  my  new-put-handkerstuff,* 
said  Kitty  to  herself,  when  she  had  smiled  at  him 
and  nodded  her  head  like  any  Chinese  mandarin. 
"  He  might  be  offended  of  me  if  I  did  not  show  it  to 
him." 

And    pulling   the  little    handkerchief   from   her 


53  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

pocket  she  shook  it  out,  and  holding  it  up  by  tw« 
corners  as  high  as  her  hands  could  reach,  and  quit* 
forgetting  that  she  was  in  church,  she  called  aloud : 

"  Mr.  James,  you  couldn't  afford  dis." 

Her  mamma  pulled  her  down  pretty  quickly,  aa 
you  may  be  sure,  but  all  the  young  people  around 
began  to  titter,  and  even  the  older  and  graver  people 
could  not  help  smiling. 

When  Kitty  remembered  that  she  had  so  forgotten 
herself,  and  spoken  aloud  in  church,  she  was  very 
much  mortified,  and  she  laid  her  head  against  her 
mamma's  arm,  and  would  not  look  up  again  for  some 
time,  while  two  or  three  big  tears  of  shame  stole 
down  to  her  cheeks. 

When  she  had  dried  her  eyes  and  could  raise  her 
head  once  more,  the  minister  was  talking.  Kitty 
always  thought  it  very  strange  that  such  a  tall,  grave 
gentleman  as  the  clergyman  should  talk  so  much  and 
so  loud  in  church  when  she  was  not  to  be  allowed  to 
speak  at  all. 

But  now,  as  she  sat  gazing  up  at  him  and  listening, 
she  presently  became  interested  in  what  he  was  say- 
ing. She  could  understand  a  good  deal  of  what  he 
said,  and  she  found  that  he  was  telling  of  a  home 
which  some  kind  ladies  had  started  for  poor  little 
lick  and  crippled  children  who  needed  kind  care  and 
a.  comfortable  place  when  they  were  ill. 

People  were  talking  about  "  hard  times  "  he  said, 
and  the  ladies  who  were  in  charge  of  the  hospital 
did,  indeed,  feel  that  these  were  "  hard  times,"  for 
they  did  not  receive  one-Hlf  the  money  they  needed 


FOR    READING'S    AND    RECITATIONS  52> 

for  the  wants  of  sick  children.  And  then  he  asked 
tbat  those  who  were  better  off  and  who  had  many 
good  things  to  he  thankful  for  that  Christmas  Day, 
would  give  of  their  abundance  for  those  who  were  in 
want 

He  spoke,  too,  a  few  words  to  the  children  of  the 
congregation. 

"  There  is  hardly  a  child  here,"  he  said,  "  who  has 
not  some  trifle  which  he  or  she  may  spare  for  these 
poor  little  ones  who  have  not  such  happy,  pleasant 
homes  as  you  have,  who  have  not  had  such  Christ- 
mas gifts  as  most  of  you  have  received.  "Would  not 
each  one  like  to  send  something  which  may  give 
pleasure  or  comfort,  which  will  gladden  the  heart  ot 
some  little  child  like  yourselves?  And,  dear  chil- 
dren, remember  that  any  offering  you  may  make 
this  morning  is  in  the  name  and  for  the  sake  of  the 
Baby  who  was  horn  to-day  in  Bethlehem — the 
Saviour  Christ  who  came  to  give  us  the  best  of  all 
Christmas  gifts — salvation  and  everlasting  life.;' 

Even  the  very  smallest  children  present  could 
help,  he  said,  and  if  it  was  but  done  for  the  love  of 
the  dear  Jesus  who  had  blessed  and  called  them,  it 
would  show  they  wished  to  please  Him. 

Kitty  heard,  and  she  was  very  sure  that  she  did 
wish  to  please  the  dear  Jesus  whose  birthday  all 
loved  to  keep  on  this  Christmas  morning,  and  as  she 
listened  she  wished  that  she,  too,  eoul<r  give  some- 
thing for  those  poor  little  children  who  had  had  no 
presents. 

But  what  should  it  be* 


54  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

She  had  no  toys  or  picture-books  with  her  there  h 
shurch,  and  her  pennies  were  all  safe  at  home  in  he* 
money-box.  If  she  but  had  some  there,  or  one  o» 
two  of  the  new  toys  or  books,  she  would  give  them 
gladly  for  the  little  cripples.  There  were  the  gentle- 
men beginning  to  pass  round  the  plates  for  the  offer* 
nigs,  and  Kitty  had  not  one  single  thing  to  give. 

As  she  thought  this  her  eye  fell  upon  the  new 
pocket-handkerchief  which  lay  upon  her  lap. 

Why,  she  could  give  this,  and  how  pleased  the 
little  children  would  be.  She  did  not  believe  that  they 
had  ever  seen  one  so  pretty,  she  was  sure  she  never 
had.  But  could  she  give  it  up,  even  for  these  children 
who  had  so  few  pretty  things  when  she  had  so  many  ? 

There  was  a  moment's  struggle  as  the  gentleman 
came  slowly  up  the  aisle  with  the  plate,  taking  from 
each  person  present  what  they  could  or  would  give, 
and  the  organ  played  and  a  sweet  voice  sang  tha 
words,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least 
of  these  ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  Then  Kitty's 
mamma  saw  her  carefully  fold  the  little  handkerchief, 
give  it  one  kiss — a  good-bye  kiss  it  was,  as  mamma 
knew  a  moment  later  when  the  gentleman  passed  the 
plate  into  the  pew,  and  Kitty  laid  the  dainty  trifle 
upon  it,  and  raising  eyes  swimming  in  tears,  forgot 
herself  once  more,  and  said  aloud,  "  It  will  do  foi 
those  little  cripples,  and  I  want  to  help  dem." 

The  gentleman  hesitated  one  moment  and  glanced 
at  Kitty's  papa  as  the  latter  laid  his  contribution 
upon  the  plate,  but  papa,  who  saw  what  it  all  meant 
motioned  him  on. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  55 

There  was  a  very  suspicious  glistening  in  the  eyes 
of  that  old  gentleman  as  he  went  on,  up  one  side  of 
the  aisle  and  down  the  other,  bearing  the  plate  with 
that  tiny  morsel  of  lace  and  embroidery  lying  upon 
itr— the  baby's  offering — which  worked  its  mission  on 
its  way,  telling  its  own  story  and  opening  many  a 
heart  to  give  more  largely  and  freely  than  it  would 
have  done  but  for  that  silent  monitor  and  example. 

Carefully  treasured  among  mamma's  dearest  pos- 
sessions lies  the  little  handkerchief  all  unknown  to 
Kitty ;  but  the  sum  which  redeemed  it  has  gone  to 
buy  many  a  comfort  and  pleasure  for  the  cripples  to 
whom  Kitty  sent  her  offering. 


CHRISTMAS  TIDE. 


w 


rHEN  the  merry  spring  time  weaves 
Its  peeping  bloom  and  dewy  leaves ; 
When  the  primrose  opes  its  eye, 
And  the  young  moth  flutters  by ; 
When  the  plaintive  turtle-dove 
Pours  its  notes  of  peace  and  love ; 

And  the  clear  sun  flings  its  glory  bright  and  wid^  » 
Yet,  my  soul  will  own 
More  joy  in  winter's  frown, 

And  vake  with  warmer  flush  at  Christmas  tide. 

The  summer  beams  may  shine 
On  the  rich  and  curling  vine, 
And  the  noon-tide  rays  light  up 
The  tulip's  dazzling  cup: 


56  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

But  the  pearly  mistletoe 

And  the  holly-berries'  glow 
Are  not  even  by  the  boasted  rose  outvied; 

For  the  happy  hearts  beneath 

The  green  and  coral  wreath 
Love  the  garlands  that  are  twined  at  Christmas  tida 

Let  the  autumn  days  produce 

Yellow  corn  and  purple  juice, 

And  Nature's  feast  be  spread 

In  the  fruitage  ripe  and  red ; 

'Tis  grateful  to  behold 

Gushing  grapes  and  fields  of  gold, 
When  cheeks  are  browned  and  red  lips  deeper  dyed 

But  give,  oh  !  give  to  me 

The  winter  night  of  glee, 
The  mirth  and  plenty  seen  at  Christmas  tide. 

The  northern  gust  may  howl, 
The  rolling  storm-cloud  scowl, 
King  Frost  may  make  a  slave 
Of  the  river's  rapid  wave, 
The  snow-drift  choke  the  path, 
Or  the  hail-shower  spend  its  wrath ; 

But  the  sternest  blast  right  bravely  is  defied, 
While  limbs  and  spirits  bound 
To  the  merry  minstrel  sound, 

And  social  wood-fire's  blaze  at  Christmas  tide. 

The  song,  the  laugh,  the  shout, 
Shall  mock  the  storm  without; 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  57 

And  sparkling  wine-foam  rise 
'Neath  still  more  sparkling  eyes; 
The  forms  that  rarely  meet 
Then  hand  to  hand  shall  greet, 

And  soul  pledge  soul  that  leagues  too  long  divide.    ; 
Mirth,  friendship,  love,  and  light 
Shall  crown  the  winter's  night, 

And  every  glad  voice  welcome  Christmas  tide. 

But  while  joy's  echo  falls 

In  gay  and  plenteous  halls, 

Let  the  poor  and  lowly  share 

The  warmth,  the  sports,  the  fare; 

For  the  one  of  humble  lot 

Must  not  shiver  in  his  cot, 
But  claim  a  bounteous  meed  from  wealth  and  pride. 

Shed  kindly  blessings  round, 

Till  no  aching  heart  be  found ; 
And  then  all  hail  to  merry  Christmas  tide ! 

Eliza  Cook. 


ECHOES   FROM  BETHLEHEM. 


It  was  night ; 
The  pulse  of  human  life  that  through  the  day 
Had  bounded  on  its  restless,  feverish  way, 
Was  at  its  lowest  ebb,  and  over  all 
Omnipotence  had  tenderly  let  fall 
The  robe  of  slumber.     Silence  reigned  supreme. 
The  moon's  pale  flood,  with  weird  and  shifting  gleam, 
Enwrapjjed  the  world,  while  myriad  stare  above 


58  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Bedecked  the  throne  of  Him  whose  name  is  Love* 

And  as  I  gazed  from  earth  to  jeweled  sky, 

It  seemed  that  heaven  to  earth  was  drawing  nigh. 

A  fleecy  cloud  spread  far  and  wide  and  bright, 

Through  which  the  stars  shone  with  redoubled  ligh\ , 

As  closer  heaven  drew  near  the  sleeping  world, 

t  saw  the  cloud  was  but  the  wings  unfurled 

And  luminous  of  hosts  unnumbered,  bright, 

That  covered  all  the  starry  arch  of  night, 

Wheeling  in  shining  squadrons  swift  and  free, 

And  noiseless  as  the  moonbeams  on  the  sea ; 

In  heavenly  majesty  they  marshalled  there, 

Above  a  valley  clothed  in  verdure  fair, 

Where  shepherds  watched  their  siumb'ring  flocks  by 

night, 
Nor  saw  above  the  gath'ring  legions  bright 
And  then  I  say  a  star,  whose  steady  glow 
Illumed  the  waving  trees  that  murmured  low 
In  the  night  breeze,  and  as  it  moved,  behold, 
Laden  with  myrrh  and  frankincense  and  gold, 
There  followed  strange  men,  from  a  land  afar, 
With  stately  mien  and  eyes  fixed  on  the  star ; 
Their  faces  shone  with  hope  and  wond'ring  awe 
As  steadfastly  they  gazed,  and  then  I  saw 
The  glowing  star  stand  still  and  hover  o'er 
A  lowly  portal ;  through  the  open  door 
A  radiance  streamed  and  mingled  with  the  light 
The  star  rained  down,  until  the  shades  of  night 
Were  vanquished  by  the  mingled  glory  there. 
Inside,  an  awe-struck  mother,  pale  and  fair, 
Bent  o'er  a  manger  wherein  lay  a  child, 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  49 

Who  turned  an  angel's  face  to  her  and  smiled, 
And  as  He  smiled,  behold,  there  burst  a  sound 
From  all  the  shining  legions  watching  'round 
That  thrilled  the  earth,  the  air,  the  peopled  sky, 
And  rose  in  waves  of  harmony  on  high, 
Until  God's  universe  took  up  the  strain 
And  sent  the  echo  back  to  earth  again. 


THE  CHRISTMAS-TREE. 


"  Merry,  merry  Christmas  everywhere, 
Cheerily  it  ringeth  through  the  air." 

ONLY  by  giving  gifts  can  the  true  meaning  of  the 
great  gift  of  peace  and  good-will  be  impressed. 
The  old  German  legend  of  the  origin  of  the  Christ, 
mas-tree  is  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  season.  The  story 
introduces  two  children  sitting  by  the  fire  one  cold 
winter's  night.  A  timid  knock  is  heard  at  the  door, 
and  the  boy  runs  to  open  it,  to  find  a  child  standing 
outside  in  the  cold  and  darkness,  with  no  shoes  on 
his  feet,  and  clad  in  thin,  ragged  garments.  He  is 
shivering  with  cold,  and  asks  to  come  in  and  warm 
himself.  "Yes,"  cry  both  the  children,  "  you  shall 
have  our  place  by  the  fire.  Come  in."  They  draw 
the  little  stranger  to  their  warm  seat,  share  their  sup- 
per with  him,  and  give  him  their  bed,  while  they 
sleep  on  the  hard  bench.  In  the  night  they  are 
awakened  by  strains  of  sweet  music,  and  looking  out 
see  a  band  of  children  in  shining  garments  approach- 
ing the  house.     They  are  playing  on  golden  harps, 


60  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

and  the  air  is  full  of  melody.  Suddenly  the  Strange* 

child  stands  beside  them,  no  longer  cold  and  ragged. 

but  clad  in  silvery  light,  and  His  soft  voice  says,  "  1 

was  cold,  and  you  took  me  in.     I  was  hungry,  and 

you  fed  me.     I  was  tired,  and  you  gave  me  your  bed 

I  am  the  Christ-child,  wandering  through  the  world 

to  bring  peace  and  happiness  to  the  hearts  of  all  good 

children.     As  you  have  given  to  me,  so  may  this  tree 

fcvery  year  give   rich  fruit  to  you."     So  saying,  he 

Woke  a  branch  from  a  fir-tree,  planted  it    in  the 

{round  and  disappeared.     But  the  branch  grew  into 

%  great  tree  and  every  year  bore  golden  fruit  for  the 

kind  children. 

Lucy  Wheelock. 


CHRISTKINDLEIN. 


HOW  bird-like  o'er  the  flakes  of  snow 
Its  fairy  footsteps  flew, 
And  on  its  soft  and  childish  brow 
How  delicate  the  hue. 

And  expectation  wings  its  feet 

And  stirs  its  infant  smile, 
The  merry  bells  their  chimes  repeat> 

The  child  stands  still  the  while. 

Then  clasps  in  joy  its  little  hand, 
Then  marks  the  Christian  dome, 

The  stranger-child,  in  stranger  land, 
Feels  now  as  if  at  home. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  61 

It  runs  along  the  sparkling  ground, 

Its  face  with  gladness  beams, 
It  frolics  in  the  blaze  around, 

Which  from  each  window  gleams. 

The  shadows  dance  upon  the  wall, 

Reflected  from  the  trees, 
And  from  the  branches,  green  and  tall 

The  glittering  gifts  it  sees. 

It  views  within  the  lighted  hall 

The  charm  of  social  love, 
Oh !  what  a  joyous  festival ! 

'Tis  sanctioned  from  above. 

But  now  the  childish  heart's  unstrung, 

"Where  is  my  taper's  light? 
And  why  has  no  evergreen  been  hung 

With  toys  for  me  to-night? 

*  In  my  sweet  home  there  was  a  band 

Of  holy  love  for  me, 
A  mother's  kind  and  tender  hand 
Once  decked  my  Christmas-tree. 

*  Oh  !  some  one  take  me  'neath  the  blase 

Of  those  light-tapers,  do, 
And,  children,  I  can  join  the  plays, 
Oh  !  let  me  play  with  you. 

"I  care  not  for  the  prettiest  toy, 
I  want  the  love  of  home, 
Oh!  let  me  in  your  playful  joy 
Forget  I  have  to  roam." 


62  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

The  little  fragile  hand  is  raised, 

It  knocks  at  every  gate, 
In  every  window  earnest  gazed, 

Then  'mid  the  snow  he  sat. 

u  Christkinkle !   thou,  the  children's  friend, 
I've  none  to  love  me  now, 
Hast  thou  forgot  my  tree  to  send, 
With  lights  on  every  bough  ?" 

The  kindlein's  hands  are  numbed  with  frost, 

Yet  press  the  little  cloak, 
Tben  on  its  breast  in  meekness  crossed 

A  sigh  the  silence  broke. 

And  closer  still  the  cloak  it  drew 

Around  its  silken  hair, 
Its  pretty  eyes  so  clear  and  blue 

Alone  defied  the  air. 

Then  came  another  pilgrim  child, 

A  shining  light  He  held, 
The  accents  fell  so  sweet  and  mild, 

All  music  they  excelled. 

w  I  am  thy  Christmas  friend,  indeed, 
And  once  a  child  like  thee, 
When  all  forgot,  thou  need'st  not  plead, 
I  will  adorn  thy  tree. 

"  My  joys  are  felt  in  street  or  bower, 
My  aid  is  everywhere, 
Thy  Christmas-tree,  my  precious  flower, 
Here  in  the  open  air, 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATION8  <5ft 

u  Shall  far  outshine  those  other  trees, 
Which  caught  thine  infant  eye," 
The  stranger-child  looks  up  and  see* 
Far  in  the  deep  blue  sky 

A  glorious  tree,  and  stars  among 

The  branches  hang  their  light, 
The  child,  with  soul  all  music,  sung, 

"  My  tree,  indeed,  is  bright." 

As  'neath  the  power  of  a  dream 

The  infant  closed  its  eyes, 
And  troops  of  radiant  angels  seem 

Descending  from  the  skies. 


*» 


The  baby  to  its  Christ  they  bear, 

With  Jesus  safe  to  live, 
To  find  a  home  and  treasure  there 

Sweeter  than  earth  can  give. 

Friedrich  Ruckert 


CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


•    GOOD   old-fashioned    Chris'mas,  with  the   logg 
ti.        upon  the  hearth, 
The  table  filled  with  feasters,  an'  the  room  a-roar  'ith 

mirth, 
With  the  stocking'  crammed  to  bu'stin',  an'  the  med- 

ders  piled  'itli  snow — 
A  good  old-fashioned  Chris'mas  like  we  had  so  long 

ago. 


64  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Now,  that's  the  thing  I'd  like  to  see  ag'in  afore  1  d\\ 
But  Chris'mas  in  the  city  here — it's  different,  oh !  my  i 
With  the  crowded  hustle-bustle  of  the  slushy,  noisj 

street, 
An'  the  scowl  upon  the  faces  of  the  strangers  that 

you  meet. 

Oh  !  there's  buyin',  plenty  of  it,  of  a  lot  o'  gorgeous 

toys : 
An'  it  takes  a  mint  o'  money  to  please  modern  girls 

an;  boys. 
Why,  I  mind  the  time  a  jack-knife  an'  a  toffy  lump 

for  me 
Made  my  little  heart  an'  stockin'  jus'  chock-full  o' 

Chris'mas  glee. 

An'  there's  feastin'.       Think   o'  feedin'  with  these 

stuck-up  city  folk ! 
Why,  ye  have  to  speak  in  whispers,  an'  ye  darsn't 

crack  a  joke. 
Then  remember  how  the  tables  looked,  all  crowded 

with  your  kin, 
When  you  couldn't  hear  a  whistle  blow  across  the 

merry  din ! 

^ou  see,  I'm  so  old-fashioned,  like,  I  don't  care  much 

for  style, 
An'  to  eat  your  Chris'mas  banquets  here  I  wouldn't 

go  a  mile : 
I:d  rather  have,  like  Solomon,  a  good  yarb-dinner,  set 
With  real  old  friends,  than  turkle  soup  with  all  the 

nobs  you'd  get. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  65 

There's  my  next-door  neighbor  Gurley — fancy  how 

his  brows  'u'd  lift 
If  I'd  holler  "  Merry  Chris'mas !    Caught,  old  fellow ; 

Chris'masgift!" 
Lordy-Lord,  I'd  like  to  try  it !  Guess  he'd  nearly  have 

a  fit. 
Hang  this  city  stiffness,  anyways ;  I  can't  get  used 

to  it 

Then  your  heart  kept  a-swellin'  till  it  nearly  bu'st 

vour  side, 
An'  by  night  your  jaws  were  achin',  with  your  smile 

four  inches  wide, 
An'  your  enemy,  the  wo'st  one,  you'd  grab  his  hand 

an'  say : 
"Mebbe  both  of  us  was  wrong,  John;  come,  let'a 

shake,  it's  Chris'mas  Day  1" 

Mighty  little  Chris'mas  spirit  seems  to  dwell  'tween 

city  walls, 
Where  each   snow-flake  brings   a  sootrflake   for  a 

brother  as  it  falls  ; 
Mighty  little  Chris'mas  spirit!  An'  I'm  a-pinin',  don't 

you  know, 
for  a  good  old-fashioned  Chris'mas,  like  we  had  so 

long  ago. 

Alice  Williams  Brotherton. 


66  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

THE  SHEPHERD-BOY'S  CAROL. 


SO  long  ago,  so  long  ago,  a  fair-haired  shepherd 
boy 
Went  through   the  streets  of  Bethlehem,   his   face 

alight  with  joy; 
Unheeding  all  who  passed  him  by,  he  gayly  strode 

along, 
And  ever  from  his  fresh,  young  lips  there  fell  this 
strange,  sweet  song : 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
And  on  earth  peace, 
Good-will  to  men." 


Lightly  his  shepherd's  staff  he  swung,  lightly  his  scrip 

he  bore, 
A  gladsome  smile,  an  earnest  joy,  his  sun-browned 

features  wore, 
And  often  toward  the  deep  blue  sky  his  eyes,  as  blue, 

were  raised, 
And  all  the  time  his  silver  voice  rang  as  he  upward 
gazed : 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
And  on  earth  peace, 
Good-will  toward  men." 

What  mean  you  now,  you  shepherd  lad  ?    What  ia 

the  song  you  sing  ? 
Why  shine  your  eyes  ?  Why  smile  your  lips  ?  What 

is  the  news  you  bring  ? 


FOR    READINGS    AWD    RECITATIONS  67 

Sing  us  the  song  you  used  to  sing,  old  David's  hymn, 

again, 
1  The  Lord  my  Shepherd  is,"  for  we  know  not  this 

wond'rous  strain. 

Well  may  ye  say  a  wondrous  strain,  for,  know  ye, 

it  belongs 
To  the  angelic  melodies — 'tis  one  of  Heaven's  songs ! 
My  voice  is  weak,  these  notes  to  raise ;  how  can  a 

shepherd-boy 
Tell  how  the  hosts  of  Heaven  sang  this  holy  song  oi 

joy? 

Last  night  I  watched  my  father's  sheep,  and  ere  it 

yet  was  day 
I  fell  asleep,  and  in  my  arms  a  little  lamb  there  jay, 
And  as  it  nestled  to  my  heart,  I  dreamed  that  once 

again 
My  dear  dead  mother  held  me  close,  and  sang  a  sweet 
refrain : 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
And  on  earth  peace, 
Good-will  toward  men." 

Wakincr,  I  reached  out  eager  arms,  when  suddenly 

there  fell 
Upon  my  eyes  a  glorious  light,  of  which  I  cannot  tell, 
And  all  the  shining  air  was  full  of  music,  passing 

sweet, 
The  same  strange  chant,  which,  in  my  dream,  had 

made  my  pulses  beat. 


68  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

And   angel   voices    told   a  tale,   while   angel  faeea 

shone — 
A.  tale  of  some  dear  child  God  gives  to-day  to  be  oui 

own; 
I  cannot  tell  you  all,  for  I  am  but  a  simple  boy, 
But  this  I  know,  that  all  the  day  I  sing,  and  sing  for 

joy  '> 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
And  on  earth  peace, 
Good- will  toward  men." 

And  sure  I  am  this  little  Child  a  blessed  babe  must 

be; 
No  lamb  so  white,  no  brook  so  pure,  no  field  so  sweet 

as  He; 
No  shepherd's  staff  such  help  can  give,  no  fold  so 

safe  from  ill, 
ind  this  is  why,  this  winter's  morn,  I  sing  with  heart 
and  will : 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
And  on  earth  peace, 
Good-will  toward  men." 


THE  GOBLINS. 


IN  an  old  abbey  town,  a  long,  long  while  ago  there 
officiated  as  sexton  and  gravedigger  \n  the 
churchyard  one  Gabriel  Grubb.  He  was  an  ill- 
conditioned,  cross-grained,  surly  fellow,  who  consorted 
with  nobody  but  himself  and  an  old  wicker-bottl« 
a-hiah  fitted  into  his  large,  deep  waistcoat  pocket. 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  69 

A  lictle  before  twilight  one  Christmas  Eve,  Gabriel 
shouldered  his  spade,  lighted  his  lantern,  and  betook 
himself  toward  the  old  churchyard,  for  he  had  a 
grave  to  finish  by  next  morning,  and  feeling  very 
low,  he  thought  it  might  raise  his  spirits,  perhaps,  if 
he  went  on  with  his  work  at  once. 

He  strode  along  until  he  turned  into  the  dark  lane 
which  led  to  the  churchyard— a  nice,  gloomy,  mourn- 
ful  place  into  which  the  towns-people  did  not  care  tc 
go  except  in  broad  daylight,  consequently  he  was  noi 
a  little  indignant  to  hear  a  young  urchin  roaring  out 
gome  jolly  song  about  a  Merry  Christmas.  Gabriel 
waited  until  the  boy  came  up,  then  rapped  him  oven 
the  head  with  his  lantern  five  or  six  times  io  teach 
him  to  modulate  his  voice.  And  as  the  boy  hurried 
away,  with  his  hand  to  his  head,  Gabriel  Grubb 
chuckled  to  himself  and  entered  the  churchyard, 
locking  the  gate  behind  him. 

He  took  off  his  coat,  put  down  his  lantern,  and 

getting  into  an  unfinished  grave,  worked  at  it  for  cm 

hour  or  so  with  right  good  will.     But  the  earth  was 

hardened  with  the  frost,  and  it  was  no  easy  matter  to 

break  it  up  and  shovel  it  out.  At  any  other  time  this 

would  have  made  Gabriel  very  miserable,  but  he  was 

so  pleased  at  having  stopped  the  small  boy's  singing 

that  he  took  little  heed  of  the  scanty  progress  he  had 

made  when  lie  had  finished  work  for  the  night,  and 

looked  down   into  the  grave  with  grim  satisftction. 

murmuring  as  In-  gathered  up  his  things: 

"  Brave  lodgings  for  one,  brave  lodgings  for  one, 
A  few  feet  of  cold  earth  when  life  is  done." 


10  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

"  Ho  !  ho!"  he  laughed  as  he  set  himself  down  on 
a  flat  tombstone,  which  was  a  favorite  resting-place 
of  his,  and  drew  forth  his  wicker-bottle  ;  "  A  coffin  at 
Christmas !  A  Christmas  box.     Ho  !  ho !  ho !" 

"  Ho !  ho !  ho !"  repeated  a  voice  close  beside 
him. 

"  It  was  the  echoes,"  said  he,  raising  the  bottle  to 
his  lips  again. 

"  It  was  not,"  said  a  deep  voice. 

Gabriel  started  up  and  stood  rooted  to  the  spot 
with  terror,  for  his  eyes  rested  on  a  form  that  made 
his  blood  run  cold. 

Seated  on  an  upright  tombstone  close  to  him  was 
a  strange,  unearthly  figure.  He  was  sitting  perfectly 
still,  grinning  at  Gabriel  Grubb  with  such  a  grin  as 
only  a  goblin  could  call  up. 

"  What  do  you  here  on  Christmas  Eve  ?"  said  the 
goblin,  sternly. 

"  I  came  to  dig  a  grave,  sir,"  stammered  Gabriel. 

"  What  man  wanders  among  graves  on  such  a  night 
as  this  ?"  cried  the  goblin. 

"  Gabriel  Grubb  !  Gabriel  Grubb  !"  screamed  a  wild 
chorus  of  voices  that  seemed  to  fill  the  churchyard. 

"  What  have  you  got  in  that  bottle  ?"  said  the 
goblin. 

"  Hollands,  sir,"  replied  the  sexton,  trembling  more 
than  ever,  for  he  had  bought  it  of  the  smugglers,  and 
he  thought  his  questioner  might  be  in  the  excise  de- 
partment of  the  goblins. 

"  Who  drinks  Hollands  alone,  and  in  a  churchyard 
•n  such  a  night  as  this  ?" 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITAT/ONS  7i 

"  Gabriel  Grubb  !  Gabriel  Grubb  !"  exclaimed  the 
wild  voices  again. 

"And  who,  then,  is  our  lawful  prize  ?"  exclaimed 
the  goblin,  raising  his  voice. 

The  invisible  chorus  replied,  "  Gabriel  Grubb ! 
Gabriel  Grubb !" 

"  Well,  Gabriel,  what  do  you  say  to  this  ?"  said  the 
goblin,  as  he  grinned  a  broader  grin  than  before. 

The  sexton  gasped  for  breath. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this,  Gabriel  ?" 

"  It's — it's  very  curious,  sir,  very  curious,  sir,  and 
very  pretty,"  replied  the  sexton,  half-dead  with  fright 
"  But  I  think  I'll  go  back  and  finish  my  work,  sir,  if 
you  please." 

-  Work,"  said  the  goblin,  "  what  work  ?* 

"  The  grave,  sir." 

"  Oh !  the  grave,  eh  ?  Who  makes  graves  at  a 
time  when  other  men  are  merry,  and  takes  a  pleasure 
in  it  ?" 

Again  the  voices  replied,  u  Gabriel  Grubb  !  Gabriel 
Grubb  !" 

"  I'm  afraid  my  friends  want  you,  Gabriel,"  said 
the  goblin. 

"  Under  favor,  sir,"  replied  the  horror-stricken  sex- 
ton ;  "I  don't  think  they  can  ;  they  don't  know  me, 
sir  ;  I  don't  think  the  gentlemen  have  ever  seen  me." 

'•Oh!  yes.  they  have.  We  know  the  man  who 
struck  the  boy  in  the  envious  malice  of  his  heart 
because  the  boy  could  be  merry  and  lie  could  not." 

Here  the  goblin  gave  a  loud,  shrill  laugh  whiei 
Ihe  echoed  returned  twenty-fold. 


72  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

"  I — I  am  afraid  I  must  leave  you,  sir,"  said  tbo 
sexton,  making  an  effort  to  move. 

"  Leave  us !"  said  the  goblin ;  "  ho !  ho !  ho !" 

As  the  goblin  laughed  he  suddenly  darted  toward 
Gabriel,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  collar,  and  sank  with 
him  through  the  earth.  And  when  he  had  had  time 
to  fetch  his  breath  he  found  himself  in  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  large  cavern,  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  goblins  ugly  and  grim. 

"And  now,"  said  the  king  of  the  goblins,  seated  in 
the  centre  of  the  room  on  an  elevated  seat — his  friend 
of  the  churchyard — "  show  the  man  of  misery  and 
gloom  a  few  of  the  pictures  from  our  great  store- 
houses." 

As  the  goblin  said  this  a  cloud  rolled  gradually 
away  and  disclosed  a  small  and  scantily-furnished 
but  neat  apartment.  Little  children  were  gathered 
round  a  bright  fire,  clinging  to  their  mother's  gown, 
or  gamboling  round  her  chair.  A  frugal  meal  was 
spread  upon  the  table  and  an  elbow  chair  was  placed 
near  the  fire.  Soon  the  father  entered  and  the  chil- 
dren ran  to  meet  him.  As  he  sat  down  to  his  meal 
the  mother  sat  by  his  side  and  all  seemed  happiness 
and  comfort. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  said  the  goblin. 

Gabriel  murmured  something  about  its  being  very 
pretty. 

"  Show  him  some  more,"  said  the  goblin. 

Many  a  time  the  cloud  went  and  came,  and  many 
a  lesson  it  taught  to  Gabriel  Grubb.  He  saw  that 
men  who  worked  hard  and  earned  their  scanty  bread 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  73 

were  cheerful  and  happy.  And  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion it  was  a  very  respectable  sort  of  a  world  after 
all.  No  sooner  had  he  formed  it  than  the  cloud 
closed  over  the  last  picture  seemed  to  settle  on  hia 
senses  and  lull  him  to  repose.  One  by  one  the  gob- 
lins faded  from  his  sight,  and  as  the  last  one  disap- 
peared he  sank  to  sleep. 

The  day  had  broken  when  he  awoke,  and  found 
himself  lying  on  the  flat  gravestone,  with  the  wicker 
bottle  empty  by  his  side.  He  got  on  his  feet  as  well 
as  he  could,  and  brushing  the  frost  off  his  coat, 
turned  his  face  toward  the  town. 

But  he  was  an  altered  man,  he  had  learned  lessons 
of  gentleness  and  good-nature  by  his  strange  adven- 
tures in  the  goblin's  cavern. 

Charles  Dickens. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


THE  shepherds  went  their  hasty  way 
And  found  the  lowly  stable-shed 
Where  the  Virgin-Mother  lay, 

And  now  they  checked  their  eager  tread, 
For  to  the  Babe,  that  to  her  nestling  clung, 
A  mother's  song  the  Virgin-Mother  sung. 

They  told  her  how  a  glorious  light, 
Streaming  from  a  heavenly  throng, 

Around  them  shone,  suspending  night, 
While  sweeter  than  a  mother's  song 

Blest  angels  heralded  the  Saviour's  birth, 

"Glory  to  God  on  high,  and  peace  on  earth." 


74  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

She  listened  to  the  tale  divine, 


■"j 


And  closer  still  the  Babe  she  prest, 
And  while  she  cried,  "  the  Babe  is  mine," 

Joy  leapt  quick  within  her  breast. 
Aye,  rose  within  her  like  a  summer's  morn, 
Peace,  peace  on  earth,  the  Prince  of  Peace  is  born. 

Thou,  Mother  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 

Poor,  simple,  and  of  low  estate, 
That  strife  should  vanish,  battle  cease, 

Oh  I  why  should  this  thy  soul  elate  ? 
Sweet  music's  loudest  note,  the  poet's  story, 
Didst  thou  ne'er  love  to  hear  of  fame  and  glory  ? 

And  is  not  War  a  youthful  king, 

A  stately  hero  clad  in  mail  ? 
Beneath  his  footsteps  laurels  spring, 

Him  earth's  majestic  monarchs  hail. 
Their  friend,  their  playmate,  and  his  bold,  bright  eye 
Compels  the  maiden's  love-confessing  sigh. 

"  Tell  this  in  some  more  courtly  scene, 
To  maids  and  youths  in  robes  of  state 

I  am  a  woman  poor  and  mean, 
And  therefore  is  my  soul  elate. 

War  is  a  ruffian,  all  with  guilt  defiled 

That  from  the  asred  father  tears  his  child. 


ver 


"A  murderous  fiend,  by  fiends  adored, 
He  kills  the  sire  and  starves  the  son, 

The  husband  kills,  and  from  her  board 
Steals  all  his  widow's  toil  had  won. 

Plunders  God's  world  of  beauty,  rends  away 

Ail  safety  from  the  night,  all  comfort  from  the  day. 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  lb 

u  Then  wisely  is  my  soul  elate, 

That  strife  should  vanish,  battle  cease, 

I'm  poor  and  of  low  estate, 

The  Mother  of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

Joy  rises  in  me,  like  a  summer's  morn, 

Peace,  peace  on  earth,  the  Prince  of  peace  is  born." 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 


SANTA  CLAUS'  AGENT. 

Permission  of  Flemiag  H.  Revell  Company. 


^PHE   day    before    Christmas    dawned   frosty   and 

Jl  bright, 

The  bare  trees  presented  a  beautiful  sight; 

From  brown,  leafless  branches  the  icicles  hung 

In  crystals,  resembling  a  white,  silver  tongue ; 

The  roofs  of  the  houses  all  glistened  like  dew 

That  lays  on  the  flowers  with  sun  shining  through ; 

The  boys  and  the  girls,  all  wrapped  to  their  eyes, 

Stood  about  on  the  street,  looking  up  to  the  skies, 

And  listening  intently,  with  hand  to  their  ear, 

If  Santa  Claus'  reindeers  were  not  somewhere  near. 

K  I  see  them  !  I  see  them  !"  one  little  boy  cried, 

As  a  tiny  white  cloud  in  the  azure  he  spied ; 

And  lie  clapped  his  red  hands  in  sweet  childish  glee, 

And  called  to  the  others,  "  Come  on,  follow  me!" 

All  eagerly  started  off  on  a  brisk  run — 

And  to  see  their  Legs  fly,  I  tell  you,  was  fun; 

Before  they  arrived  at  the  destined  place 

(A  block  down  the  main  street),  it  proved  quite  a  race; 


76  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Every  one  to  be  first  had  striven  his  best, 

And  each  little  face  was  as  red  as  his  vest ; 

And  while  they  were  panting  aloud  with  their  might, 

They  looked  up  and — behold,  no  cloud  was  in  sighM 

The  happy  smile  faded  quite  out  of  each  face, 

And  one  of  vexation  came  into  its  place ; 

When,  all  unexpected,  a  bright  little  girl — 

The  only  sweet  darling  whose  lip  did  not  curl — 

Cried.  "  Look !  look !  there  they  are,  just  crossing  the 

wire 
On  the  telegraph  pole  behind  the  church  spire !" 
Again  they  all  started  pell-mell  on  a  run, 
Some  slipped  on  the  pavement,  and  down  they  did 

come; 
But  quick  to  their  rescue  the  others  ran  back, 
And  once  more  they  are  off  on  the  reindeers'  track. 
They  went  quite  a  distance  down  through  a  long 

lane, 
They  must  get  very  near  to  the  pole  to  see  plain ; 
But  gone  was  their  rapture,  all  flown  their  delight, 
It  proved  to  be  only  an  old  battered  kite. 
So,  quite  disappointed,  they  walked  to  and  fro, 
Their  hands   in  their  pockets,  their  feet  crunching 

snow; 
Said  one  little  fellow,  "  Real  still  let  us  be, 
Perhaps  we  can  hear  them  much  better  than  see." 
And  then  such  a  clatter  they  heard,  sure  enough, 
That  must  be  the  reindeers  on  somebody's  roof  ; 
80  they  pulled  back  their  ears  and  opened  their  eyes, 
But  to  their  amazement,  disgust,  and  surprise, 
'Twas  only  the  snow-birds  upon  the  barn  roofa 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  71 

They  now  had  mistaken  for  reindeers'  hoofs. 
Now  very  disheartened  back  home  they  all  ran ; 
With  heads  hanging  downward,  they  humped  'gainsft 

a  man, 
That  none  of  them  noticed  before  standing  round, 
Because   they   weren't  looking    for    things   on  thf 

ground. 
Such  a  queer-looking  chap,  so  round  and  so  fat, 
With  a  long  white  top-coat  and  high  furry  hat; 
He  had  the  appearance  of  being  stuffed  well 
With  something  unusual,  but  what,  none  could  tell; 
From  under  his  hat  peered  a  little  red  foot; 
From  out  of  a  pocket  the  heel  of  a  hoot ; 
The  head  of  a  kitten  peeped  out  from  his  breast, 
But  'twould  take  too  much  time  to  tell  you  the  rest 
He  spoke  to  them  kindly:  "  Well,  my  little  dears, 
Pray,  tell  me  the  meaning  of  all  these  sad  tears." 
One  little  hoy  answered,  without  any  fear, 
"  We've  tried  to  be  good,  sir,  throughout  the  whole 

year, 
And  now  we've  heen  looking  in  the  blue  sky  so 

bright, 
To  see  if  dear  '  Santa'  is  coming  to-night; 
We've  now  looked  all  over,  but  nowhere  appears 
A  thing  that  resembles  the  form  of  reindeers!" 
*  Of  course  not,  my  children  piis  eyes  fairly  beam] 
Sfou  know  you  can  only  see  them  in  a  dream; 
I'm  old  Santa's  agent,  and  to  me  he  said : 
'Tell  all  the  good  children  to  get  into  bed, 
Put  some  sleep  in  their  eyes,  some  caps  o'er  thev 

ears, 


78  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Then  they  can  see  plainly,  and  hear  the  reindeers.' " 
They  gazed  at  him  wondering,  with  fluttering  heart 
Their  mouths  stretched  wide  open,   their  feet  foi 

apart ; 
Then  off  for  their  homes,  with  a  shout  full  of  glee, 
They  hurried  and  scampered  like  caged  birds  set  free 
Then  did  the  queer  fellow  "  Ha !  ha !"  and  "  he !  he !" 
And  shrug  his  broad  shoulders  and  slap  his  fat  knee ; 
And  long  ere  the  stars  shone  they'd  all  gone  to  rest 
Their  ears  nightcapped   over,  sleep   on   their  eyea 

pressed, 
When  lo !  and  behold !  what  a  sight  they  did  see  I 
That  same  jolly  fellow,  still  shaking  with  glee, 
His  great-coat  still  open,  his  hat  fallen  back, 
And  on  his  broad  shoulders  an  extra  large  sack, 
Crammed  full  of  the  finest,  most  desirable  things, 
Of  every  description  that  Christmas  time  brings. 
His  reindeers  stood  champing  outside  the  house  dooi, 
While  he  tumbled  everything  down  on  the  floor; 
His  face  fairly  radiant  with  honest  delight, 
He  cried    "  Merry   Christmas  I   Till  morning  sleep 

tight." 
Then  over  the  housetops  of  rich  and  of  poor 
He  flew  like  the  north  wind,  and  stopped  at  each 

door, 
The  same  words  repeating  to  the  lowly  and  high, 
For  Santa  Claus  passes  no  good  children  by. 
Bo  when  Christmas  morning  all  awoke  to  good  cheer. 
They  vowed  to  be  better  than  ever  next  year. 

Hannah  More  Kohans, 


FOR    READINGS     AND    RECITATIONS  fl 

AT  CHRISTMAS-TIME. 

AM   EPISODE   OF   THE   RUSSO-TURKISH   WAR. 


IN  his  wind-shaken  tent  the  soldier  sits, 
Beside  him  flares  an  oil  lamp  smokily, 
Whose  dim  light  glooms  and  flickers  on  the  shed 
Of  rustling  paper  that,  with  eager  ej^es 
And  heart  intent  he  reads.     Now  with  a  smile 
The  flaxen-bearded  sunburnt  face  lights  up. 
A  smile,  that  in  the  smiling  breeds  a  pain 
Within  his  yearning  heart ;  the  gentle  hand 
That  those  sweet,  loving  words  hath  traced, 
Will  he  ever  again  in  his  protecting  clasp 
Enfold  it  ?     Who  can  tell  ?     He  can  but  kfea. 
With  wild  intensity,  the  page  that  hand 
Hatb  touched.     Each  line,  each  word  read  ana"  1 

read. 
/U  last  there  is  no  more.     With  swimming  eyes 
He  looks  and  drinks  her  name  into  his  soul. 
Yet  see  those  lines  with  pencil  widely  ruled 
Where  largely  sprawl  big  letters  helplessly. 
What  do  they  say,  those  baby  characters, 
fio  feebly  large  ? 

u  Loved  papa,  at  Christmas-time 
Will  you  come  home  again, 
My  own  dear  papa  ?" 

Aa  he  reads  this,  the  tent  to  him  grows  darker, 
Ilia  strong  hand  trembles  and  the  hot  tears  bum 
In  his  blue  eyes  and  blur  the  struggling  word* 


80  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

What  need  to  see?    The  words  are  stamped  upon 
His  heart,  and  his  whole  soul  doth  feel  them  there, 
The  wind  on  gusty  wings  sweeps  by,  and,  lo ! 
With  its  wild  voice  his  child's  sweet  treble  mingles  in 
accents  clear: 

u  Loved  papa,  at  Christmas-time 
Will  you  come  home  again, 
My  own  dear  papa  ?" 

And  now  his  head  is  bowed  into  his  hands, 
Bis  brave  heart  for  a  moment  seems  to  climb 
Into  his  throat  and  choke  him.     Hark  !  what  sound 
Thus  sharply  leaps  among  and  slays  the  sad 
Weird  voices  of  the  autumn  night  with  shrill 
And  sudden  blast  ?     The  bugle  calls,  "  To  arms !" 
And  startled  sleepers,  at  its  fierce  appeal, 
Half-dreaming,   clutch   their  swords,    and  gasping 

wake. 
How  many  soon  to  sleep  again  in  death  ! 
And  on  the  father's  heart  the  pealing  cry 
Strikes  cold   as  ice,  though   soldier    there's    none 

braver, 
For  still  above  the  bugle's  thrilling  breath 
That  pleading  child-voice  sweetly  calls  : 

u  Loved  papa,  at  Christmas-time 
Will  you  come  home  again, 
My  own  dear  papa  ?" 

Across  a  rough  hillside  the  light  of  dawn 
Doth  coldly  creep  with  ruthless  touch  revealing 
All  that  by  darkness  had  been  hid,  and  there 


FOR    READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  HI 

Amongst  the  stalwart  forms  that  stiffening  lie 
Upon  the  blood-soaked  ground,  where  they  lie  in* 

thickest 
There  is  one  found  with  flaxen  hair  and  beard 
Dark-dyed  with  gore,  a  bullet  in  the  heart  I 
A  crumpled  paper  in  his  hand  was  clutched, 
'Gainst  the  cold  lips  his  right  hand  did  press 
Some  childish  writing,  by  his  life-blood  stained. 
What  are  the  words  ?     One  scarce  can  read  them  now 
"  Loved  papa,  at  Christmas-time 
Will  you  come  home  again, 
My  own  dear  papa  ?" 


A  LETTER  TO  SANTA  CLAUS. 


*  T)UT  a  Velop  on  it,  and  write  his  name,  and  ptrt 
-L       in  the  pos'-office,"  insisted  Polly. 

u  Polly,  what  on  earth  is  it  ?"  asked  Mattie,  look- 
ing  at  the  half-sheet  of  letter  paper,  with  queer  ink- 
lines  and  cross  tracks  all  over  it 

"  It's  a  letter  I've  writ  to  Santa  Claus,"  said  Polly, 
with  a  very  serious  air. 

Mattie's  black  eyes  danced  with  fun  as  she  looked 
from  the  letter  to  the  earnest  face  of  the  writer. 

"  Billy,"  she  exclaimed,  "  come  here  and  see  what 
Polly's  been  doing." 

"  He  may  look,"  said  Polly,  "  but  I  don't  want  any 
body  else  to  know." 

Billy  was  one  of  those  boys  who  can  laugh  inside 
Olid  not  let  a  sound  escape.  He  looked  at  tt*  \ettei. 
6 


82  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

u  It's  just  the  thing,"  he  said.  "  I'll  sign  her  nam« 
to  it." 

"And  I'U  do  it  up,"  said  Mattie. 

"  It's  got  to  go,"  said  Billy,  "  and  if  it  gets  to  hiia 
he  may  come,"  though  father  and  mother,  and  even 
Mattie  had  said  Santa  Claus  is  not  coming  to  oui 
house  "  this  year." 

This  was  the  reason  why  'Squire  Leadenway,  on 
the  day  before  Christmas,  gave  his  team  a  rest  right 
in  front  of  the  Lummis  house.  He  had  not  seen 
anybody  yet,  but  a  small,  clear  voice  seemed  to  al- 
most come  up  out  of  the  snow : 

"  Mister !"  it  said,  "  wait,  please !" 

"  Hullo !"  said  'Squire  Leadenway,  heartily,  "  who 
are  you  ?    What  do  you  want  ?" 

"  I'm  Polly  Lummis.     It's  a  pos'-office." 

She  held  up  the  white  envelope  as  she  spoke,  and 
he  could  now  look  down  from  his  load  of  bags  of 
grain  into  her  round,  rosy,  and  eager  little  face.  His 
hand,  covered  by  a  great  thick,  yarn  mitten,  went 
right  out  and  took  the  letter. 

"  Post-office  ?"  he  said.  "  Yes.  No  stamp.  Sakes 
alive!  Santa  Claus?  Guess  it  doesn't  need  any 
ttamp.     Ill  take  it,  Polly." 

"  Will  it  get  him  ?"  asked  Polly. 

a  Hope  it  will,"  he  said,  emphatically.  "  I  declarsf 
Santa  Claus!  You  thought  .you'd  write  to  him, 
eh?" 

a  'Cause  he  isn't  coming  to  our  house,"  she  said. 

"That's  bad,"  said  the  'Squire.  "He  oughl  to 
oome.    Why,  I'd  like  to  see  him  myself." 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  88 

*  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Polly.  "I  hope  it'll  get 
him." 

She  darted  back  to  the  gate,  and  'Squire  Leaden- 
way  drove  on  to  the  village,  chuckling  to  himself: 
"  Fat  little  chub.  Christmas.  Well,  now.  Children 
of  her  size  are  kind  o'  sca'ce." 

A  little  later  a  squad  of  men  were  standing  by  the 
counter  in  McGonegal's  store.  At  that  moment  the 
door  flew  open,  and  'Squire  Leadenway  stamped 
slowly  in.  He  was  an  important  man,  and  all  were 
ready  to  say  "  good  morning  "  to  him,  but  he  spoke 
first  to  the  postmaster : 

"  McGonegal,  there,  does  that  call  for  a  two-cent 
stamp  or  a  one-cent,  or  will  you  take  it  out  in  trade  ?" 

"Santa  Claus!"  exclaimed  the  astonished  post- 
master. "  He  doesn't  live  anywhere  round  here. 
What  does  it  mean  ?" 

-  It  means  Polly  Lummis — little  chub  'bout's  high 
as  a  grasshopper  —  stopped  me  in  front  of  their 
house.  Said  Santa  Claus  wasn't  coming  if  the  letter 
didn't  get  him.  I'd  give  something  to  know  what's 
inside,"  said  the  'Squire. 

u  I  have  some  curiosity  myself,"  remarked  Dr.  Link. 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Elder  Group,  with  firmness.  "  It'* 
a  childish  superstition*" 

"  Open  it  comes !"  exclaimed  Judge  Hopper,  and 
it  was  curious  to  see  those  gray  heads  and  wrinkled 
faces  crowding  toward  that  piece  of  paper  covered 
with  curious  signs  and  pictures. 

44  It  needs  an  interpreter,"  said  Dr.  Link.  "  It  Ap° 
pears  to  be  written  in  an  unknown  tongue." 


84  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  remarked  Judge  Hop. 
per.  "  Guess  I'm  Santa  Claus  enough  to  take  it 
home,  anyway,  and  show  it  to  my  wife." 

Everybody  in  the  store  saw  it  first ;  and  the  Judge 
showed  it  to  three  men  and  four  women  on  his  way1 
to  his  own  house. 

"  Sho !"  said  Mrs.  Hopper  when  she  saw  it,  "  your 
name  isn't  Santa  Claus,  nor  mine  either.  What  made 
you  keep  it  ?" 

"  Because,  Ellen,  I  thought  you  might  see  some 
fun  in  it." 

"  Sho !  nonsense !  You're  too  old  a  man  to  do  any 
practical  joking.  So  is  'Squire  Leaden  way.  Did  he 
write  that  scrawl,  or  did  you  ?" 

"  Polly  Lummis  gave  it  to  him.  'Tisn't  a  scrawl, 
exactly.  I've  been  trying  to  make  out  what  she 
means.  That's  a  doll's  face,  and  those  must  be  sticks 
of  candy." 

"  You  don't  say.     She's  a  little  thing." 

Mrs.  .Hopper  sat  down  with  Polly's  letter  in  her  lap. 
It  was  difficult  to  read,  beyond  a  doubt,  for  it  made 
her  wipe  her  spectacles  three  times  before  she  fin- 
ished it.  She  got  up  quickly  and  went  up-stairs. 
She  walked  straight  to  an  old  bureau,  unlocked  a 
drawer  and  pulled  it  out.  It  was  full  of  children's 
toys.  "  Twelve  years  ago,"  she  said,  "  and  I've  never 
taken  'em  out  any  year  till  the  night  before  Christ- 
mas." Then  all  that  was  in  the  drawer  came  out 
upon  the  floor,  and  she  sat  down  by  the  heap  she  had 
made. 

Polly  Lummis,  now  that  her  letter  was  gone,  waw 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  85 

quite  sure  Santa  Claus  would  call  at  the  post-office 
and  ask  if  there  was  anything  for  him.  Billy  piled 
up  logs  in  the  sitting-room  fireplace  after  supper 
until  the  family  had  to  push  back  their  chairs  and 
sit  by  the  table.  There  they  sat  and  talked  and 
laughed  about  the  apples  and  nuts  they  meant  ta 
have  when  next  Christmas  Eve  should  come,  and 
about  all  the  good  stories  they  had  ever  heard  that 
belonged  to  Santa  Claus  and  to  Christmas,  until  the 
forestick  broke  down  in  a  great  shower  of  sparks, 
and  Mrs.  Lummis  said  it  was  bed-time. 

When  Polly  had  been  some  two  hours  asleep,  or 
apparently  so,  something  very  queer  came.  It  was 
not  a  dream,  for  it  broke  right  in  through  a  great 
beautiful  dream  she  was  having  about  Santa  Claus 
reading  a  letter,  and  it  woke  her  up.  She  was  sura 
she  heard  something.  It  was  a  slow  crunch,  crunch, 
crunch  on  the  path  from  the  road  to  the  house.  She 
lay  as  still  as  a  mouse,  whispering  to  herself,  "  He 
got  it,  he  got  it,  I  know  he  got  it.  That's  Santa  Claus 
out  there."  It  was  not  he,  but  it  was  Judge  Hopper, 
all  wrapped  up,  trying  to  walk  stealthily. 

"  Ellen,"  said  he  to  a  lady  back  in  the  snow-drift. 
u  I  hung  the  satchel  on  the  door-knob.  They're  all 
a-bed  and  asleep." 

Polly,  wide  awake,  listening,  heard  another  crunch, 
crunch,  crunch,  this  time  very  heavy. 

"  He's  come  again,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  He  forgot 
something,  and  he  had  to  go  back  after  it." 

Once  more  it  was  not  Santa  Clans,  only 'Squire 
Leadenway,  with  a  turkey  in  one  hand  and  a  ham  ia 


86  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

the  other.  He  put  them  on  the  door-step,  and  got 
back  into  the  road  again,  saying  to  himself: 

"  I  wouldn't  have  anybody  know  it,  and  be  called 
Santa  Claus  the  rest  of  my  life,  but  Polly'll  have  a 
good  dinner  for  herself  and  her  folks." 

He  barely  reached  his  sleigh,  hitched  a  little  dis- 
tance up  the  road,  in  time  to  escape  being  seen  by  a 
man  who  came  from  the  direction  of  the  village. 

"  There  he  is,"  said  Polly,  "  crunch,  crunch, 
again." 

"  It's  all  I  can  afford,"  said  Elder  Group  ;  "  but  a 
quarter-eagle  can  buy  something.  I'm  glad  somebody 
else  has  been  here,"  he  murmured,  as  he  took  out  oi 
his  pocket  a  little  faded  blue  silk  bag  and  hung  it  on 
the  door-knob. 

He  had  hardly  passed  McGonegal's  door  when  the 
postmaster  came  into  the  street,  dragging  a  well- 
loaded  new  sled. 

"  I  was  caught  in  my  own  trap.  I  said  I'd  give 
Polly  the  sled  if  they'd  load  it.  And  here  I  am 
playing  Santa  Claus  when  I  ought  to  be  in  bed.  But 
then  I'm  postmaster,  and  Polly's  letter  was  delivered. 
I'd  like  to  see  Polly,  though,  when  she  opens  the 
door  in  the  morning." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lummis  were  up  first  and  arranged 
a  few  Christmas  surprises,  although  they  had  said 
Santa  Claus  was  not  coming.  It  seemed  as  if  all  had 
found,  as  they  looked  at  their  gifts,  as  much  Christ* 
mas  as  they  wished,  when  suddenly  Polly  shouted : 

"  Santa  Claus  was  here  last  night.      I  heard  him." 

■  Where  was  he  ?"  aaked  Billy. 


rOR    READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  87 

a  Out  front  of  the  house." 

"  Let's  go  and  see  if  his  reindeer  left  any  hoof, 
marks,"  said  Mattie. 

"The    letter    got    him  I     The    letter    got  him  1" 
shouted  Polly. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  Christmas  when  the  gifts 
were  all  brought  into  the  sitting-room.    And  the  next 
time  Polly  went  into  the  village  it  seemed  as  if  every- 
body knew  her  and  had  a  laugh  ready. 

William  0.  Stoddard. 


CHRISTMAS  BELLS. 


HARK  !  the  bells  of  Christmas  ringing, 
All  abroad  their  echoes  flinging, 
Wider  still  and  wider  winging 
On  the  waste  of  wintry  air ! 
On  their  solemn,  swift  vibrations, 
Rapture,  rapture  through  the  nations, 
Rapture,  tell  their  glad  pulsations 
Million  blissful  bosoms  share. 

Every  bell  to  every  hammer 
Answers  witli  a  joyous  clamor, 
Answers,  till  from  out  the  glamor 

Of  the  ages  far  and  dim, 
Till  from  Bethlehem's  stable  lowly, 
Fair  as  moonrise,  opening  slowly, 
Btreams  of  radiance,  pure  and  holy, 

Down  the  brightening  centuries  swim. 


88  HOLIDAY    SELECTION* 

Then  the  bells  ring  fine  and  tender, 
And  from  out  that  far-off  splendor, 
Veiled  in  light  no  dreams  could  lend  bflp, 

Lo !  the  virgin-mother  mild, 
Pale  from  guiltless  pain  unspoken, 
Calm  in  faith's  deep  trust  unbroken, 
Bright  with  Heaven's  unconscious  tokett, 

Bends  above  her  wcndrous  child. 

Still  the  bells  ring  softly,  sweetly, 
Mingling  all  their  chimes  so  meetly, 
Tracing  all  my  soul  completely, 

Till  the  rosy  clouds  divide  I 
And  o'er  Bethlehem's  mountains  howy 
Bursts  a  strange  celestial  glory, 
Swells  a  sweet  seraphic  story, 

Trembling  o'er  the  pastures  wide. 

Glory  !  Glory !  God  descending, 
Weds  with  man  in  bliss  unending, 
Hark  !  the  ecstatic  choirs  attending 

Smite  their  lyres  with  tempest  sound, 
Shout !  Old  Discord's  reign  is  riven, 
Peace  on  earth  !  good-will  is  given ! 
Shout  the  joy  through  highest  Heaven! 

Make  the  crystal  spheres  resound  I 

Earth's  sad  wails  of  woe  and  wrangling, 
Like  wild  bells  in  night-storms  jangling 
Now  their  jarring  tones  untangling 
In  some  deep  harmonious  rhyme, 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  I 

Touched  by  Love's  own  hand  supernal, 
Hush  their  dissonance  internal, 
Catch  the  rhythmic  march  eternax, 
Throbbing  through  the  pulse  of  time. 

Lo !  the  Babe,  where  glad  they  found  HW 
By  the  chrismal  light  that  crowned  Himl 
See  the  shaggy  shepherds  round  Him, 

Round  His  manger  kneeling  low  I 
See  the  star-led  magi  speeding, 
Priest  and  scribe  the  record  reading, 
Craft  and  hate  each  omen  heeding, 

Brooding  swift  the  direful  blow  ! 


*o 


Vain  the  wrath  of  kings  conspiring  t 
Vain  the  malice  demons  firing  1 
On  the  nations  long  desiring, 

Lo  1  at  last  the  Day-Star  shines  ! 
Earth  shall  bless  the  hour  that  bore  Hi, 
Unborn  empires  fall  before  Him, 
Unknown  climes  and  tribes  adore  Him, 

In  ten  thousand  tongues  and  climes. 

Hark !  the  Christmas  bells  resounding, 
Earth's  old  jargon  all  confounding! 
Round  the  world  their  tumult  bounding 

Spreads  ImmanueFs  matchless  fame! 
Million  hands  their  offerings  bringing^ 
Million  hearts  around  Him  clinging, 
Million  tongues  hosanna  singing, 

Swell  the  honors  of  His  name  I 


tO  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Crown  Him,  monarchs,  seers,  and  sagas  I 
Crown  Him,  bards  in  deathless  pages  I 
Crown  Him  King  of  all  the  ages  f 

Let  the  mighty  anthem  rise. 
Hark  !  the  crash  of  tuneful  noises ! 
Hark !  the  children's  thrilling  voices  1 
Hark  !  the  world  in  song  rejoices 

Till  the  chorus  shakes  the  skies  1 

Living  Christ,  o'er  sin  victorious, 
Dying  Lamb  all  meritorious, 
Rising  God,  forever  glorious, 

Take  our  songs  and  hearts,  we  pray. 
May  we  Thee  by  faith  descrying, 
On  Thy  death  for  life  relying, 
Rise  to  rapture  never  dying, 

Rise  with  Thee  in  endless  day. 

Gbo&ge  Lansing  Taylor 


NEW    YEAfv 


SONG  FOR  THE  NEW  YEAR 

OLD  Time  has  turned  another  page 
Of  eternity  and  truth  ; 
He  reads  with  a  warning  voice  to  age, 
And  whispers  a  lesson  to  youth. 

A  year  has  fled  o'er  heart  and  head 

Since  last  the  Yule  log  burned ; 
And  we  have  a  task  to  closely  ask, 

What  the  bosom  and  brain  have  learned? 

Oh !  let  us  hope  that  our  sands  have  run 

With  wisdom's  precious  grains  ; 
Oh  1  may  we  find  that  our  hands  have  done 

Some  work  of  glorious  pains. 

Then  a  welcome  and  cheer  to  the  merry  New  Yeai 

While  the  holly  gleams  above  us  ; 
With  a  pardon  for  the  foes  who  hate, 

And  a  prayer  for  those  who  love  us. 

We  may  have  seen  some  loved  ones  pass 
To  the  land  of  hallowed  rest; 

We  may  miss  the  glow  of  an  honest  brow 
And  the  warmth  of  a  friendly  breast 

01 


92  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

But  if  we  nursed  them  while  on  earth, 

With  hearts  all  true  and  kind, 
Will  their  spirits  blame  the  sinless  mirth 

Of  those  true  hearts  left  behind  ? 

No,  no !  it  were  not  well  or  wise 

To  mourn  with  endless  pain  ; 
There's  a  better  world  beyond  the  skies, 

Where  the  good  shall  meet  again. 

Then  a  welcome  and  cheer  to  the  merry  New  Yean 

While  the  holly  gleams  above  us  ; 
With  a  pardon  for  the  foes  who  hate, 

And  a  prayer  for  those  who  love  us. 

Have  our  days  rolled  on  serenely  free 

From  sorrow's  dim  alloy  ? 
Do  we  still  possess  the  gifts  that  bless 

And  fill  our  souls  with  joy? 

Are  the  creatures  dear  still  clinging  near? 

Do  we  hear  loved  voices  come? 
Do  we  gaze  on  eyes  whose  glances  shed 

A  halo  round  our  home  ? 

Oh !  if  we  do,  let  thanks  be  poured 
To  Him  who  hath  spared  and  given, 

And  forget  not  o'er  the  festive  board 
The  mercies  held  from  Heaven. 

Then  a  welcome  and  cheer  to  the  merry  New  Year, 

While  the  holly  gleams  above  us  ! 
With  a  pardon  for  the  foes  who  hate, 

And  a  prayer  for  those  Mio  love  us. 

Eliza  Cook. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  Vt» 


THE  NEW  YEAR, 


HARK !  the  cock  crows,  and  yon  b/ight  ebak 
Proclaims  the  clay  himself 's  not  far. 
With  him  old  Janus  doth  appear, 
Peeping  int^>  the  future  year, 
With  such  a  look  as  seems  to  say, 
The  prospect  is  not  good  that  way. 
Thus  do  we  rise  ill  sights  to  see, 
And  'gainst  ourselves  to  prophesy, 
When  the  prophetic  fear  of  things 
A  more  tormenting  mischief  brings, 
More  full  of  soul-tormenting  gall 
Than  direst  mischiefs  can  befall. 
But  stay  !  but  stay  !  methinks  my  sight 
Better  informed  by  clearer  light, 
Discerns  sereneness  in  that  brow 
That  all  contracted  seemed  but  now. 
His  reversed  face  may  show  distaste 
And  frown  upon  the  ills  are  past. 
But  that  which  this  way  looks  is  cleai 
And  smiles  upon  the  new-born  year 
He  looks,  too,  from  a  place  so  high, 
The  year  lies  open  to  his  eye, 
And  all  the  momei.ts  open  are 
To  the  exact  discoverer. 
Yet  more  and  more  he  smiles  upon 
The  happy  revolution. 
Why  should  we  then  suspect  or  fear 
The  influences  ot  a  year, 


&4  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

So  smiles  upon  us  the  first  morn 

And  speaks  us  good  sO  soon  as  born? 

Plague  out !  the  last  was  ill  enough, 

This  cannot  hut  make  better  proof. 

Or,  at  the  worst,  as  we  brushed  through 

The  last,  why  so  we  may  this,  too. 

And  then  the  next  in  reason  should 

Be  super-excellently  good. 

For  the  worst  ills  (we  daily  see) 

Have  no  more  perpetuity 

Than  the  best  fortunes  that  do  fall, 

Which  also  bring  us  wherewithal, 

Longer  their  being  to  support 

Than  those  do  of  the  other  sort. 

And  who  has  one  good  year  in  three 

And  yet  repines  at  destiny, 

Appears  ungrateful  in  the  case 

And  merits  not  the  good  he  has. 

Then  let  us  welcome  the  New  Guest 

With  lusty  brimmers  of  the  best. 

Mirth  always  should  Good  Fortune  meet 

And  render  e'en  disaster  sweet, 

And  though  the  Princess  turn  her  back, 

Let  us  but  line  ourselves  with  sack. 

We  better  shall  by  far  hold  out, 

Till  the  next  year  she  face  about 

COLTOH 


FOB   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  95 

THE  OLD  YEAR. 


WAIL,  winter  Winds,  o'er  moor  and  fell , 
The  year  is  dying.     Hark  1    The  hell 
Rings  out  amid  the  falling  snow, 
■  Good-bye,  old  friend,  for  thou  must  go ; 

Good-bye,  Old  Year.' 

Good-bye,  Old  Year,  thy  life  is  dona 
Since  first  thy  light  upon  me  shone, 
The  blissful  hopes  that  fill'd  my  heart 
Are  witherd  all,  and  all  depart 

With  thee,  Old  Year. 

With  bitter  tears  my  eyes  are  wet  j 
My  heart  is  sad  with  vain  regret 
For  all  the  good  that  I  had  thought 
To  do,  for  ill  that  I  have  wrought 

In  thee,  Old  Year. 

Where  are  the  friends  that  side  by  side 
With  me  have  walk'd,  the  true  and  tried? 
Gone  !  like  the  snow,  that,  fair  and  white, 
Fell  o'er  the  land  thy  birthday  night — 
All  gone,  Old  Year ! 

Where  are  the  flowers  that  brightly  bloom'd 
In  thy  young  life,  and  earth  perfumed? 
Gone  I  with  the  winter's  frosty  breath, 
And  lying,  like  our  friends,  in  death — 
In  death,  Old  Year  I 


HOLIDAY   SELECTIONS 

But  soft !  thy  heart  beats  faint  and  slow ; 
Thine  eyes  are  dim,  thy  pulse  is  low ; 
One  parting  glance ;  thy  life  is  o'er, 
The  New  Year  stands  within  the  door. 
Good-bye,  Old  Year  f 

Violet  Fuller, 


COASTING  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


FROM  the  quaint  old  farm-house,  nestling  warmlj 
'Neath  its  overhanging  thatch  of  snow, 
Out  into  the  moonlight  troop  the  children, 
Filling  all  the  air  with  music  as  they  go, 
Gliding,  sliding,  down  the  hill, 
Never  minding  cold  nor  chill, 
O'er  the  silvered  moon-lit  snow, 
Swift  as  arrow  from  the  bow, 
With  a  rush  of  mad  delight 
Through  the  crisp  air  of  the  night, 
Speeding  far  out  o'er  the  plain, 
Trudging  gayly  up  again 
To  where  the  firelight's  ruddy  glow 
Turns  to  gold  the  silver  snow. 
Finer  sport  who  can  conceive 
Than  that  of  coasting  New  Year's;  Eve? 
Half  the  fun  lies  in  the  fire 
That  seems  to  brighter  blaze  and  higher 
Than  any  other  of  the  \rear, 
A.3  though  his  dying  hour  to  cheer, 
And  at  the  same  time  greeting  give 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS 

To  him  who  has  a  year  to  live. 
Tis  built  of  logs  of  oak  and  pine, 
Filled  in  with  branches  broken  fine ; 
It  roars  and  crackles  merrily  ; 
The  children  round  it  dance  with  glee ; 
They  sing  and  shout  and  welcome  in 
Hie  New  Year  with  a  joyous  din 
That  rings  far  out  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
And  warns  the  watchers  in  the  vale 
Tis  time  the  church  bells  to  employ 
To  spread  the  universal  joy. 

Then  the  hill  is  left  in  silence 
As  the  coasters  homeward  go, 

A.nd  the  crimson  of  the  fire-light 
Fades  from  off  the  trodden  snow. 

60  the  years  glide  by  as  swiftly 
As  the  sleds  rush  down  the  hill, 

And  each  new  one  as  it  cometh 
^ringeth  more  of  good  than  ilL 


DIRGE  FOR  THE  YEAR 

ORPHAN  hours,  the  year  is  dead, 
Come  and  sigh,  come  and  weep? 
Merry  hours,  smile  instead, 

For  the  year  is  but  asleep  ; 
See,  it  smiles  as  it  is  sleeping, 
Mocking  your  untimely  weeping. 
7 


HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Ae  an  earthquake  rocks  a  corse 

In  its  coffin  in  the  clay, 
80  white  Winter,  that  rough  nurse. 

Rocks  the  dead — cold  year  to-day  \ 
Solemn  hours  !  wail  aloud 
For  your  mother  in  her  shroud. 

As  the  wild  air  stirs  and  sways 
The  tree-swung  cradle  of  a  child, 

80  the  breath  of  these  rude  days 
Rocks  the  year ; — be  calm  and  mild,. 

Trembling  hours ;  she  will  arise 

With  new  love  within  her  eyes, 

January  gray  is  here, 

Like  a  sexton  by  her  grave ; 
February  bears  the  bier, 

March  with  grief  doth  howl  and  rave, 
And  April  weeps, — but,  0  ye  hours ! 
Follow  with  May's  fairest  flowers. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley, 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  CHIME. 

rLL!  toll!  toll! 
For  the  old  year  slowly  dying, 
Grim,  gaunt,  sere, 
On  the  breast  of  Time  now  lying. 
Hopes  of  youth  are  fleeting, 
Hearts  with  care  are  beating. 
Ho!  ye  wardens  of  the  bell*, 
Toll!  toll!  toll! 
foil  for  Earth's  enticing  fashion, 


FOR   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  Wfc 

Toll  for  Strife's  unholy  passion, 
Toll  for  Friendship  unrequited, 
Toll  for  Hope's  enchantments  blighted. 
Toll  for  Love's  fond  pledges  broken, 
Toll  for  Want  and  Woe  unspoken, 
Toll  for  Mourners  sadly  weeping, 
Toll  for  Sin's  vast  harvest  reaping: 

Toll!  toll!  toll! 
Toll  that,  while  the  world  shall  stand, 
Sin  and  Woe  shall  fill  the  land ! 

Toll!  toll!  toll! 

Ring!  ring!  ring! 
A  welcome  to  the  bright  New  Year! 

Life,  Hope,  Joy, 
On  his  radiant  brow  appear ! 
Hearts  with  love  are  thrilling, 
Homes  with  bounty  filling. 
Ho !  ye  wardens  of  the  bells, 

Ring!  ring!  ring! 
Ring  for  Winter's  bracing  hours, 
Ring  for  birth  of  Spring  and  Flowers, 
Ring  for  Summer's  fruitful  treasure, 
Ring  for  Autumn's  boundless  measure, 
Ring  for  hands  of  generous  giving, 
Ring  for  vows  of  nobler  living, 
Ring  for  truths  of  tongue  or  pen, 
Ring,  "  Peace  on  earth,  good-will  toward  men." 

Ring  !  ring  !  ring 
Ring,  that  this  glad  year  may  see 
Earth's  accomplished  jubilee  1 

Rural  king!  ring! 


tOO  HOLIDAY    SELECTION* 

THE  NEW  YEAR. 


EING,  bells,  from  every  lofty  height' 
An  infant  fair  is  born  to-night ; 
Ring  far  and  wide,  ring  full  and  clear, 
To  welcome  in  the  glad  New  Year. 


n 


u  The  king  is  dead ;  long  live  the  king  I 
They  said  of  old,  and  so  we  sing. 
The  Old  Year's  gone  to  his  repose, 
There  let  him  rest  beneath  the  snows. 

Behind  us,  with  the  year  that's  gone, 
Lie  countless  sins  that  we  have  dona 
With  joy  we  cast  all  care  away 
And  pass  into  a  newer  day. 

New  day,  new  life,  whose  noble  deed 
Will  all  our  sinful  years  succeed, 
A  life  of  action,  great  and  strong, 
To  cancel  all  we've  done  of  wrong. 

Ring,  joyous  bells  !  our  hearts  beat  high 
With  faith  and  hope.     Beyond  the  sky 
Perchance  the  angels  stand  and  wait 
To  catch  the  sound  at  Heaven's  gate ! 

And  echoing  each  silver  tone, 
Sing  songs  of  praise  around  the  Throne. 
Ring,  happy  bells,  to  us  is  given 
Still  longer  to  prepare  for  Heaven. 

Violet  Fuller 


FOR   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  101 

REJOICINGS  UPON  THE   NEW  YEAR'S  COM- 
ING OF  AGE. 


THE  Old  Year  being  dead,  and  the  New  Year  com- 
ing of  age,  which  he  does,  by  calendar  law  aa 
soon  as  the  breath  is  out  of  the  old  gentleman's  body 
nothing  would  serve  the  young  spark,  but  he  musJ 
give  a  dinner  upon  the  occasion,  to  which  all  the 
Days  in  the  year  were  invited.  The  Festivals,  whom 
he  deputed  as  his  stewards,  were  mightily  taken  with 
the  notion.  They  had  been  engaged  time  out  of 
mind,  they  said,  in  providing  mirth  and  good  cheer 
for  mortals  below,  and  it  was  time  they  should  have 
a  taste  of  their  own  bounty. 

It  was  stiffly  debated  among  them  whether  the 
Facts  should  be  admitted.  Some  said  the  appearance 
of  such  lean,  starved  guests,  with  their  mortified 
faces,  would  pervert  the  ends  of  the  meeting.  But 
the  objection  was  overruled  by  Christmas  Day,  who 
had  a  design  upon  Ash  Wednesday  (as  you  shall 
hear),  and  a  mighty  desire  to  see  how  the  old  Domine 
would  behave  himself  in  his  cups.  Only  the  Vigils 
were  requested  to  come  with  their  lanterns  to  light 
the  gentlefolk  home  at  night. 

All  the  Days  came.  Covers  were  provided  for  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  guests  at  the  principal  table; 
with  an  occasional  knife  and  fork  at  the  sideboard  for 
the  Twenty-ninth  of  February. 

Cards  of  invitation  had  been  issued.  The  carriers 
were  the  Hours;  twelve  little  merry,  whirligig  loot 


102  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

pages  that  went  all  round  and  found  out  the  person* 
invited,  with  the  exception  of  Easter  Day,  Shrove 
Tuesday,  and  a  few  such  movables,  who  had  lately 
shifted  their  quarters. 

Well,  they  all  met  at  last,  foul  Days,  fine  Days,  all 
sorts  of  Days,  and  a  rare  din  they  made  of  it.  There 
was  nothing  but,  "  Hail,  fellow  Day !  well  met !"  only 
Lady  Day  seemed  a  little  scornful.  Yet  some  said 
Twelfth  Day  cut  her  out,  for  she  came  all  royal  and 
glittering  and  Epiphenous.  The  rest  came  in  green, 
gome  in  white,  but  old  Lent  and  his  family  were  not 
yet  out  of  mourning.  Rainy  Days  came  in  dripping, 
and  sunshiny  days  laughing.  Wedding  Day  was 
there  in  marriage  finery.  Pay  Day  came  late,  and 
Doomsday  sent  word  he  might  be  expected. 

April  Fool  took  upon  himself  to  marshal  the  guests, 
and  May  Day,  with  that  sweetness  peculiar  to  her, 
proposed  the  health  of  the  host.  This  being  done, 
the  lordly  New  Year  from  the  upper  end  of  the  table 
returned  thanks.  Ash  Wednesday,  being  now  called 
upon  for  a  song,  struck  up  a  carol,  which  Christmas 
Day  had  taught  him.  Shrovetide,  Lord  Mayor's  Day, 
and  April  Fool  next  joined  in  a  glee,  in  which  all  the 
Days,  chiming  in,  made  a  merry  burden. 

All  this  while  Valentine's  Day  kept  courting  pretty 
May,  who  sat  next  him,  slipping  amorous  billet- 
daux  under  the  table  till  the  Dog  Days  began  to  be 
jealous  and  to  bark  and  rage  exceedingly. 

At  last  the  Days  called  for  their  cloaks  and  great/ 
eoate,  and  took  their  leaves.  Shortest  Day  went  off 
In  a  deep  black  fog  that  wrapped  the  little  gentleman 


FOR   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  103 

all  round.  Two  Vigils — so  watchmen  are  called  in 
Heaven — saw  Christmas  Day  safe  home ;  they  had 
been  used  to  the  business  before.  Another  Vigil — a 
stout,  sturdy  patrol,  called  the  Eve  of  St.  Christo- 
pher— seeing  Ash  Wednesday  in  a  condition  little 
better  than  he  should  be,  e'en  whipt  him  over  his 
shoulders,  pick-a-pack  fashion,  and  he  went  floating 


lome  singing : 


"On  the  bat's  back  do  I  fly," 

and  a  number  of  old  snatches  besides.  Longest  Day 
set  off  westward  in  beautiful  crimson  and  gold ;  the 
rest,  some  in  one  fashion,  some  in  another ;  but  Valen- 
tine and  pretty  May  took  their  departure  together  in 
Dne  of  the  prettiest  silvery  twilights  a  Lover's  Day 

tould  wish  to  set  in. 

Charles  Lamb. 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  YEAR 


Old  Year. 

SPARE  her  at  least;  look,  you  have  taken  from  me 
The  Present,  and  I  murmur  not,  nor  moan; 
The  Future,  too,  with  all  her  glorious  promise; 
But  do  not  leave  me  utterly  alone. 

Spare  me  the  Past;  for,  see.  she  cannot  harm  you, 
Sh«;  liea  so  white  and  cold,  wrapped  in  her  shroud  ; 

All.  all  my  own  :  and.  trust  me,  I  will  hide  her 
Within  my  soul,  nor  speak  to  her  alouiL 


l04  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

I  folded  her  soft  hands  upon  her  bosom, 
And  strewed  my  flowers  upon  her,  they  still  liv«j 

Sometimes  I  like  to  kiss  her  closed  white  eyelids, 
And  think  of  all  the  joy  she  used  to  give. 

Cruel  indeed  it  were  to  take  her  from  me ; 

She  sleeps,  she  will  not  wake — no  fear — again; 
And  so  I  laid  her,  such  a  gentle  burthen, 

Quietly  on  my  heart  to  still  its  pain. 

I  do  not  think  that  any  smiling  Present, 

Any  vague  Future,  spite  of  all  her  charms, 
Could  ever  rival  her.     You  know  you  laid  her, 
Twelve  fleeting  moons  ago,  then  living,  in  my 
arms. 

New  Year. 

Do  not  crouch  to-day,  and  worship 

The  old  Past,  whose  life  is  fled ; 
Hush  your  voice  to  tender  reverence, 

Crowned  she  lies,  but  cold  and  dead; 
For  the  Present  reigns  our  monarch, 

With  an  added  weight  of  hours ; 
Honor  him,  for  he  is  mighty ! 

Honor  him,  for  he  is  ours ! 

Bee  the  shadows  of  her  heroef 
Girt  around  his  cloudy  throne ; 

Every  day  the  ranks  are  strengthened 
By  great  hearts  to  her  unknown; 

Noble  things  the  great  Past  promised, 
Holy  dreams,  both  strange  and  new ; 


FOR   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  105 

But  the  present  shall  fulfill  them, 
What  she  promised  he  shall  da 

He  inherits  all  her  treasures, 

He  is  heir  to  all  her  fame, 
And  the  light  that  lightens  round  him 

Is  the  lustre  of  her  name ; 
He  is  wise  with  all  her  wisdom, 

Living,  on  her  grave  he  stands, 
On  his  hrow  he  bears  her  laurels, 

And  her  harvests  in  his  hands. 

Coward,  if  we  should  his  glory  dim, 

Can  he  reign  and  conquer? 
Let  us  fight  for  him  as  nobly 

As  our  fathers  fought  for  her. 
God,  who  crowns  the  dying  ages, 

Bids  him  rule,  and  us  obey — 
Bids  us  cast  our  lives  before  him, 

Bids  us  serve  the  great  To-day. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 


PET  AND  HER  CAT. 


NOW,  Pussy,  I've  something  to  tell  yol 
You  know  it  is  New  Year's  Day, 
The  big  folks  arc  down  in  the  parlor, 
And  mamma  is  just  gone  away. 

We  are  all  alone  in  the  nursery, 
And  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  dear, 


106  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

So  you  must  come  and  sit  by  me, 
And  make  believe  you  hear. 

You  see  there's  a  new  year  coming, 

It  only  begins  to-day, 
Do  you  know  I  was  often  naughty 

In  the  year  that  is  gone  away  ? 

You  know  I  have  some  bad  habits, 
I'll  mention  just  one  or  two, 

But  there  really  is  quite  a  number 
Of  naughty  things  that  I  do. 

You  see,  I  don't  learn  my  lessons, 
And,  oh !  I  do  hate  them  so, 

I  doubt  if  I  know  any  more  to-day 
Than  I  did  a  year  ago. 

Perhaps  I  am  awfully  stupid, 
They  say  I'm  a  dreadful  dunce. 

How  would  you  like  to  learn  spelling? 
I  wish  you  could  try  it  once. 

And  don't  you  remember  Christmas— 
Twas  naughty,  I  must  confess — 

But  while  I  was  eating  my  dinner 
I  got  two  spots  on  my  dress. 

And  they  caught  me  stealing  the  sugar, 
But  I  only  got  two  little  bits, 

When  they  found  me  there  in  the  closet, 
And  frightened  me  out  of  my  wits. 


FOP    HEADINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  107 

And,  Pussy,  when  people  scold  me, 

I'm  always  so  sulky  then, 
If  they  only  would  tell  me  gently, 

I  never  would  do  it  again. 

0  Pussy !  I  know  I  am  naughty, 
And  often  it  makes  me  cry, 

1  think  it  would  count  for  something, 

If  they  knew  how  hard  I  try. 

But  I'll  try  again  in  the  New  Year, 

And,  oh !  I  shall  be  so  glad 
If  I  only  can  be  a  good  little  girl 

And  never  do  anything  bad ! 


ST.  VALENTINE'S    DAY 


VALENTINE'S  DAY. 


HAIL  to  thy  returning  festival,  old  Bishop  Valen- 
tine !  Great  is  thy  name  in  the  rubric,  thou 
venerable  Arch-flamen  of  Hymen.  Immortal  Go-be- 
tween ;  who  and  what  manner  of  person  art  thou  ? 
Art  thou  but  a  name,  typifying  the  restless  principle 
which  impels  poor  humanity  to  seek  perfection  in 
union?  Mysterious  personage!  like  unto  thee,  as- 
suredly, there  is  no  other  mitred  father  in  the  calen- 
dar ;  not  Jerome,  nor  Ambrose,  nor  Cyril.  Thou 
comest  attended  with  ten  thousands  of  little  Loves, 
and  the  air  is 

Brush'd  with  the  hiss  of  rustling  wings. 
Singing  Cupids  are  thy  choristers  and  thy  precen- 
tors ;  and  instead  of  the  crosier,  thy  mystical  arrow  is 
borne  before  thee. 

In  other  words,  this  is  the  day  on  which  those 
charming  little  missives,  ycleped  Valentines,  cross 
and  intercross  each  other  at  every  street  and  turning. 
As  the  raven  himself  was  hoarse  that  announced  the 
fatal  entrance  of  Duncan,  so  the  knock  of  the  post- 
man on  this  day  is  light,  airy,  confident,  and  befit- 
ting one  that  bringeth  good  tidings.  It  is  less  me- 
108 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  109 

chanical  than  on  other  days ;  you  will  say,  "  That  is 
not  the  postman,  I  am  sure."  Visions  of  Love,  of 
Cupids,  of  Hymens  ! — delightful  eternal  common- 
places, which,  "  having  been,  will  always  be  ;"  which 
no  schoolboy  nor  schoolman  can  write  away  ;  having 
your  irreversible  throne  in  the  fancy  and  affections, — 
what  are  your  transports  when  the  happy  maiden, 
opening  with  careful  finger,  not  to  break  the  emblem- 
atic seal,  bursts  upon  the  sight  of  some  well-designed 
allegory,  some  youthful  fancy,  not  without  verses — 

Lovers,  all 
A  madrigal, 

or  some  such  device,  not  over-abundant  in  sense. 
But  all  valentines  are  not  foolish.  A  young  man 
wishing  to  repay  a  young  maiden  for  many  a  favor 
she  had  done  him,  he  wrought,  unseen  and  un- 
suspected, a  wondrous  work.  It  was  on  the  finest 
gilt  paper  with  borders,  full,  not  of  common  hearts 
and  heartless  allegory,  but  of  all  the  prettiest  stories 
of  love  from  Ovid  and  older  poets  than  Ovid  (he  was 
a  scholar).  There  was  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  and 
Dido  was  not  forgot,  nor  Hero  and  Leander,  and 
swans  more  than  sang  in  Cayster — in  short,  a  work 
of  magic.  This  on  Valentine's  eve  he  commended  to 
the  common  post ;  but  the  humble  medium  did  its 
duty,  and  from  his  watchful  stand,  the  next  morning 
he  saw  the  cheerful  messenger  knock  ;  and  by  and  by 
he  saw,  unseen,  the  happy  girl  unfold  the  Valentine, 
dance  about,  clap  her  hands,  as  one  after  one  the 
pretty  emblems  unfolded  themselves.  It  was  like 
wme  fairy  present. 


110  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Good  morrow  to  my  Valentine,  sings  poor  Ophelia 
And  no  better  wish,  but  with  better  auspices,  we  wish 
to  all  faithful  lovers,  who  are  not  too  wise  to  despise 
old  legends,  but  are  content  to  rank  themselves  hum 
ble  diocesans  of  old  Bishop  Valentine. 

Charles  Lamb. 


LADY  MABEL. 


SIDE  by  side  with  Lady  Mabel 
Sate  I,  with  the  sunshade  down; 
In  the  distance  hummed  the  Babel 

Of  the  many-footed  town ; 
There  we  sate  with  looks  unstable— 
Now  of  tenderness,  of  frown. 

a Must  we  part?  or  may  I  linger? 

Wax  the  shadows,  wanes  the  day." 
Then,  with  voice  of  sweetest  singer 

That  hath  all  but  died  away, 
u  Go,"  she  said ;  but  tightened  finger 

Said  articulately,  "  Stay  I" 

Face  to  face  with  Lady  Mabel, 
With  the  gauzy  curtains  drawn, 

Till  a  sense  I  am  unable 
To  portray,  began  to  dawn ; 

Till  the  slant  sun  flung  the  gable 
Far  athwart  the  sleepy  lawn. 

*  Now  I  go.    Adieu,  adieu  love ' 
This  is  weakness ;  sweet,  be  strong.' 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  Hi 

Comes  the  footfalls  of  the  dew,  love ! 

Philomel's  reminding  song." 
"Go,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  go,  too,  lovel 

Go  with  you,  my  life  long  I" 

Alfred  Auatm 


BT.  VALENTINE'S  MAGIC  WAND. 

Permission  of  "  The  Cosmopolitan." 


BEFORE  my  love  and  I  had  met, 
The  budding  larch  was  clad  with  green; 
No  bitter  wind  awoke  tG  fret 

The  gold  locks  of  the  garden's  queen ; 
The  chestnut  from  his  kingly  throne 

Reigned  o'er  the  dewy  lawn,  and  yet 
Their  grace  they  had  not  wholly  shown 
Before  my  love  and  I  had  met 

Before  my  love  and  I  had  met 

The  skies  were  soft  as  now  they  be ; 
The  breeze  that  kissed  the  violet 

Shook  white  snow  from  the  hawthorn  tree , 
With  breath  of  lilacs  freshly  blown 

My  heart  was  lifted  up,  and  yet 
There  was  a  sweetness,  all  unknown 

Until  my  love  and  I  had  met 

Before  my  love  and  I  had  met, 
The  whispers  of  the  pines  I  heard; 

Low  warblings  paid  the  shelter-debt 
Where  leaves  concealed  a  happy  bird; 


112  HOLIDAY     SELECTIONS 

The  river  rippled  o'er  the  stone 
The  air  was  thrilled  with  gladness,  yet 

Music  has  gained  a  deeper  tone 
Now  that  my  love  and  I  have  met. 

William  Waterfielix 


MEG  MAY'S  VALENTINE. 


0 


UT  of  the  cottage  looked  Meg  May, 

In  the  morning  light  of  Valentine's  day. 


The  sun  o'er  the  hills  was  just  in  sight, 
And  the  slanting  rays  of  his  beams  so  bright 

Lit  up  Meg's  hair  like  shimmering  gold, 
As  it  fell  from  her  temple  in  careless  fold. 

She  laughed  as  she  saw  who  was  coming  that  way- 
The  one  she  saw  first  on  Valentine's  day. 

"  Old  wood-sawing  Jim  !  it  is,  I  declare ! 
O  Jim,  you're  my  Valentine,  so  beware !" 

*  I'm  glad  for  mesel',  miss,  though  sorry  for  you ; 
But  'tis  only  the  written  ones  ever  come  true." 

She  laughed,  and  then,  warbling  a  merry  lay, 
Was  soon  busy  at  work  in  her  cheery  way — 

Dressing  the  younger  boys  and  girls, 
Washing  their  faces,  and  twisting  their  curls ; 

Telling  them  when  they  were  ready  for  school, 
To  learn  all  their  lessons  and  keep  every  rule. 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  til 

Then  she  tied  back  her  hair,  her  soft  bright  hair, 
And  fastened  a  ribbon  here  and  there. 

She  smoothed  the  folds  of  her  simple  gown 
And  reached  her  hood  and  her  mantle  down  J 

Then  stopped  with  an  eager  yet  shameful  look, 
And  fingered  the  pages  of  a  book, 

a  It  does  look  foolish  for  me  to  go 
On  Valentine's  day  for  a  letter  I  know ; 

"And  yet  if  I  don't,  and  Roger  should  write, 
Twill  stay  there  till  father  comes  home  to-night. 

u  Oh  !  I  surely  must  go !     But  stay,  let  me  see ! 
Mother  said  that  she  wanted  some  sugar  and  tea; 

v  So  I'll  go  after  them,  'tis  so  pleasant  to-day, 
And  just  stop  at  the  office — 'tis  right  on  the  way." 

The  hood  and  the  mantle  she  hastened  to  don ; 
Her  little  white  mittens  were  quickly  put  on. 

All  down  the  street,  there's  the  post-office  door. 
Just  past  the  corner,  a  minute  more. 

"Any  letters  for  me  ?"  in  a  careless  way. 

■  Your  name  ?   Oh !  yes !  Miss  Margaret  May." 

And  into  the  white-mittened  hands 

A  great  white  envelope  drops.     She  stands 

A  moment  to  read  the  direction  again, 
While  the  rose  in  her  cheek  grows  redder,  and  thtH. 
8 


114  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Under  her  mantle  she  hides  it  away. 
"  I  thought  he  would  write  me  on  Valentine's  day." 

Homeward  she  hastes ;  at  the  garden  gate — =■ 
*  Oh !  the  sugar  and  tea !    Well,  they  can  wait." 

In-doors,  up-stairs,  in  her  own  little  room, 
Her  cheeks  are  like  the  carnation's  bloom. 

Two  doves  at  the  top.  and  Cupid  below ; 

Two  hearts  by  the  arrow  shot  straight  from  his  bo^ 

Pierced  and  transfixed,  and  verses  of  love, 
With  wreaths  of  bright  flowers  dropping   down 
from  above, 

And  written  inside,  in  the  inmost  fold, 
Was  the  old-time  story  so  often  told. 

I  think  she  was  satisfied,  sweet  Meg  May, 

With  the  letter  that  came  to  her  Valentine's  day. 


VALENTINE  TO  A  MAN  OF  WORTH. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 


FAIR  Sir !  to  you  my  maiden  intuitions — 
Shy,  but  sincere — ingenuously  incline, 
And  if  I  find  you  answer  the  conditions, 
I'll  take  your  bid  and  be  your  Valentine. 

I  know  your  worth — that  is,  your  general  merit ; 

But,  when  your  mourned  and  wealthy  father  died, 
Pray  tell  a  simple  girl,  did  you  inherit 

His  virtues  only —or — a  bit  beside  ? 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  116 

Yes,  I  admire  your  lofty  reputation, 

Dear  to  my  artless  spirit  as  my  own ; 
But  tell  me  this — to  still  my  trepidation — 

Are  you  an  owner  in  Bell  Telephone  ? 

Your  learning,  too,  has  bound  my  heart  in  fetters— 
For  you  are  wise,  if  street  report  be  true ; 

I,  too,  a  childish  fancy  have  for  letters — 
I  hope  you're  solid   on  "  C.  B.,  &  Q." 

Your  noble  presence — -"  dignified  and  stately  " — 

With  inexperienced  ardor  I  adore  ; 
But  those  Villard  stocks !  Have  you  tried  'em  lately  ? 

And  were  you  long  or  short  on  that  Lake  Shore  ? 

So,  gentle  Sir,  if  you  aright  but  read  me, 

And  will  with  all  your  Bonds  and  Stocks  be  mine, 
Then  into  Mutual  Union  you  shall  lead  me, 
And  I  will  be — 

Your  booming  Valentine. 

Edward  A.  Church. 


IT  WAS  A   LASS. 


IT  was  a  lass,  for  love  a-secking, 
In  every  heavy  red  rose  peeking- 
Ah,  wcll-a-day ! — 
To  see  if  there  he  might  be  hiding; 
And  nil  the  while  herself  a-chiding 
For  shame,  that  she  desired  him  so. 
And  sought  him  if  she  would  or  no. 
Ah,  well-a-day  1 


J16  HOLIDAY     SELECTIONS 

And  when  by  chance  a  laddie  meeting, 

She'd  blush,  and  give  him  trembling  greeting— 

Ah,  well-a-day ! 
And  shyly  in  his  eyes  be  peeping, 
To  see  if  Love  lay  in  them  sleeping ; 
And  if  to  wake  he  'gan  to  stir, 
And  dazzle  at  the  sight  of  her — 

Ah,  well-a-day  1 

It  was  a  lass,  for  love  a-hunting, 

So  still,  for  fear  of  him  affronting — 

Ah,  well-a-day ! 

At  last,  one  eve,  with  tears  and  sighing, 

She  spied  him  in  her  own  heart  lying, 

And  nowhere  else,  fore'er  and  aye — 

Ah,  well-a-day, 

Ah,  well-a-day ! 

Mary  E.    Wilxirs. 


DIANA'S  VALENTINE. 

tron.  Harper's  Magazine.    Copyright  1892  by  Harper  &  Brother* 

GOOD  Saint  Valentine,  I  pray, 
While  around  this  town  you  stray, 
You  will  keep  your  eyes  alert 
For  a  maid  who  loves  to  flirt 

If  among  the  hurrying  crowd — 
Beauties  fair  and  beauties  proud- 
You  should  see  one  like  a  queen, 


FOR   READINGS     AND   RECITATIONS  117 

Eyes  of  blue  with  golden  sheen 
In  her  hair  that's  flecked  with  brown, 
And  a  grace  about  her  gown, 
That's  Diana ! 

Catch  her  eye 
As  she's  gayly  tripping  by ; 
Say  you  know  a  sorry  wight, 
Slow  of  speech  and  slow  to  write, 
"Who  would  tell  her  through  these  flowers 
That  her  eyes  are  bright  as  stars 
In  the  blue ;  that  her  speech 
Haunts  his  mem'ry  (out  of  reach 
Like  their  perfume  faint  but  fine) 
That  her  laugh  is  like  rare  wine. 
As  you  leave  her  touch  her  lips ; 
Say  that  men  are  like  old  ships, 
Easy  towed,  but  hard  to  steer ; 
Then  just  whisper  in  her  ear, 
Lovers  change,  but  friends  are  true 
Like  these  violets.     Then,  "  Adieu." 

This,  Saint  Valentine,  I  pray, 
On  the  morning  of  that  day 
When  you  keep  your  eyes  alert 
For  all  maids  who  love  to  flirt. 

Albert  BRiDer*. 


/18  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

PIERROT'S  VALENTINE. 

|P*om  Harper's  Magazine.     Copyright  1S90  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

HIS  loving  heart  had  never  learned 
The  hopelessness  of  high  ambition-, 
He  thought,  poor  Pierrot,  love  could  win 
A  way  to  loftiest  position. 

Nor  fir^t  nor  last  of  lovers  he 
To  promise  that  beyond  his  art, 

Vowing  the  unattainable 

To  win  his  chosen  lady's  heart 

u  Dear  Columbine,"  he  smiling  wrote, 
"  My  valor  soars  this  world  above. 
I  will  do  that  ne'er  done  before 

That  I  may  win  my  sweetheart's  love 

u  Above  the  high  cathedral  spires 

Hangs  the  big  moon :     it  shall  be  thine. 
I'll  climb  and  fetch  it  down  to  you 
If  you  will  be  my  valentine." 

Minnie  Buchanan  Goodman- 


ST.  VALENTINE'S  DAY. 


\  T  morn  unto  my  window  sill, 
-£*-     Dan  Cupid  comes  to  learn  my  will. 
u  Friend,"  cries  my  little  naked  guest, 
*  Hast  thou  for  me  an  amorous  quest? 


FOR   READINGS'  AND   RECITATIONS  119 

Is  there  no  maid  to  whom  thou'dst  say  ■ 
*  I  love  thee !'  on  this  festal  day  ?" 

u  Cupid,r  I  answer,  "  there's  a  maid 
Of  whom  my  heart  is  half  afraid. 
A  coward  I  in  lover's  Miss — 
I'll  send,  thee,  rogue,  to  steal  my  kiss  I 
And  take  with  thee  this  scarlet  rose, 
Wherein  my  love  all  hotly  glows." 

Then  Cupid  thus :  "  Ho,  that  will  I ! 
And  hid  beneath  the  leaves  I'll  lie. 
When  to  her  room  the  rose  I've  borne, 
To  smell  it,  sure  she'll  never  scorn ; 
Then  shall  I  touch  her  with  my  dart— 
'A  bee,'  she'll  cry,  '  is  at  its  heart !' 

"  The  while  she  standeth  startled  there, 
I  shall  have  vanished  in  the  air; 
Then  hovering  near  her  lips  aflame, 
I'll  softly  whisper  her  your  name, 
And  of  the  mystery  naught  she'll  make— 
She'll  think  it  was  her  heart  that  spake !" 

Edward  Valentine 


WASHINGTON'S    BIRTHDAY 


EULOGY  ON  WASHINGTON. 


AMERICANS !  The  saviour  of  your  country  has 
obtained  his  last  victory.  Having  reached  th<J 
Bumrait  of  human  perfection,  he  has  quitted  the 
region  of  human  glory. 

Born  to  direct  the  destiny  of  empires,  his  character 
was  as  majestic  as  the  events,  to  which  it  was  attached, 
were  illustrious.  In  the  delineation  of  its  features, 
the  vivid  pencils  of  genius  cannot  brighten  a  trait, 
nor  the  blighting  breath  of  calumny  obscure.  His 
principles  were  the  result  of  organic  philosophy, — his 
success,  of  moral  justice.  His  integrity  assumed  the 
post  of  command, — his  intelligence,  the  aspect  of  in- 
spiration. Glory,  to  many  impregnable,  he  obtained 
without  ambition ;  popularity,  to  all  inconstant,  he 
enjoyed  without  jealousy.  The  one  was  his  from  ad« 
miration,  the  other  from  gratitude.  The  former  em- 
bellished, but  could  not  reward ;  the  latter  followed, 
but  never  could  lead  him.  The  robust  vigor  of  his 
virtue,  like  the  undazzled  eye  of  the  eagle,  was  inac- 
cessible to  human  weakness;  and  the  unaspiring 
temperament  of  his  passions,  like  the  regenerating 
ashes  of  the  phoenix,  gave  new  life  to  the  greatness 
it  could  not  extinguish.  In  the  imperial  dignity  of  his 
person  was  exhibited  the  august  stature  of  his  mind, 

Robert  Treat  Paine,  Jr. 
120 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  121 

WASHINGTON. 


ROME  had  its  Csesar,  great  and  brave;  but  stain 
was  on  his  wreath  ; 
He  lived   the   heartless   conqueror,   and    died    the 

tyrant's  death. 
France  had  its  eagle ;  but  his   wings,  though   lofty 

they  might  soar, 
Were  spread  in  false  ambition's  flight,  and  dipped  in 
murder's  gore. 

Those  hero-gods,   whose  mighty  sway  would   fain 

have  chained  the  waves, 
Who  flashed  their  blades  with  tiger-zeal,  to  make  a 

world  of  slaves — 
Who,  though  their   kindred  barred  the  path,    still 

fiercely  waded  on — 
Oh !  where  shall   be   their  "  glory "  by  the  side  of 

Washington  ? 

He  fought,  but  not  with  love  of  strife — he  struck  but 

to  defend ; 
And,  ere  he  turned  a  people's  foe,  he  sought  to  be  a 

friend. 
He  strove  to  keep  his   country's  right,  by  reason's 

gentle  word, 
And  sighed  when  fell  injustice  threw  the  challenge — 

sword  to  sword. 

He  stood,  the  firm,  the  calm,  the   wise,  the  patriot, 

and  sage ; 
He  showed    no   deep,   avenging   hate — no   burst   of 

despot  rage. 


122  OLID  AY    SELECTIONS 

He  stood  for  liberty  and  truth,  and  dauntlessly  led  on, 
Till  shouts  of  victory  gave  forth  the  name  of  Wash 
ington. 

He  saved  his  land,  but  did  not  lay  his  soldier  trap- 
pings down 

To  change  them  for  the  regal  vest,  and  don  a  kingly 
crown. 

Fame  was  too  earnest  in  her  joy — too  proud  of  such 
a  son — 

To  let  a  robe  and  title  mask  a  noble  Washington. 

Eliza  Cook. 


THE  APPROACH  OF  THE  PRESIDENCY. 


YOU  are  among  the  small  number  of  those  who 
know  my  invincible  attachment  to  domestic 
life,  and  that  my  sincerest  wish  is  to  continue  in  the 
enjoyment  of  it  solely  until  my  final  hour.  But  the 
world  would  be  neither  so  well  instructed,  nor  so 
candidly  disposed  as  to  believe  me  uninfluenced  by 
sinister  motives,  in  case  my  circumstances  should 
render  a  deviation  from  the  line  of  conduct  I  had 
prescribed  to  myself  indispensable. 

Should  the  contingency  you  suggest  take  place, 
and  (for  argument's  sake  alone  let  me  say  it)  should 
my  unfeigned  reluctance  to  accept  the  office  be  over- 
come by  a  deference  for  the  reasons  and  opinions  of 
my  friends,  might  I  not,  after  the  declarations  I  have 
made  (and  Heaven  knows  they  were  made  in  the 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  123 

sincerity  of  my  heart),  in  the  judgment  of  the  world 
and  of  posterity,  be  chargeable  with  levity  and  incon- 
sistency, if  not  with  rashness  and  ambition  ?  Nay, 
further,  would  there  not  be  some  apparent  founda- 
tion for  the  two  former  charges  ?  Now  justice  to 
myself  and  tranquillity  of  conscience  require  that  I 
should  a'ct  a  part,  if  not  above  imputation,  at  least 
capable  of  vindication.  Though  I  prize  as  I  ought 
the  good  opinion  of  my  fellow-citizens,  yet,  if  I  know 
myself,  I  would  not  seek  or  retain  popularity  at  the 
expense  of  one  social  duty  or  moral  virtue. 

George  Washington. 


THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  COUNTRY. 

[Funeral  Oration— 1800.] 


METHINKS  I  see  his  august  image,  and  I  hear 
falling  from  his  venerable  lips  these  deep-sink- 
ing words : 

"  Cease,  Sons  of  America,  lamenting  our  separation ; 
go  on,  and  confirm  by  your  wisdom  the  fruits  of  our 
joint  councils,  joint  efforts,  and  common  dangers; 
reverence  religion ;  diffuse  knowledge  throughout 
your  land,  patronize  the  arts  and  sciences ;  let  Liberty 
and  Order  be  inseparable  companions.  Control  party 
spirit,  the  bane  of  free  governments;  observe  good 
faith  to,  and  cultivate  peace  with  all  nations,  shut  up 
every  avenue  to  foreign  influence,  contract  rather 
than  extend  national  connection,  rely  on  yourselves 
qnly:  be  Americans   in  thought,  word,   and  deed; 


124  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

— thus  will  you  give  immortality  to  that  union  which 
was  the  constant  object  of  my  terrestrial  labors  ;  thu* 
will  you  preserve  undisturbed  to  the  latest  posterity 
the  felicity  of  a  people  to  me  most  dear,  and  thus 
will  you  supply  (if  my  happiness  is  now  aught  to 
you)  the  only  vacancy  in  the  round  of  pure  bliss 
high  Heaven  bestows." 

Henry  Lee. 

♦ 

WASHINGTON'S  KISS. 


When  General  Washington  visited  Andover,  Mass.,  in  Novem. 
ber,  1789,  he  breakfasted  at  the  tavern  of  Deacon  Isaac  Abbott.  Aa 
he  was  leaving,  he  saw  a  rip  in  his  glove.  He  asked  Priscilla 
Abbott,  then  a  young  girl,  to  mend  it.  Taking  it  from  her  when 
it  was  finished  he  gave  her  a  kiss  in  return. 

THRONGED  were  the  streets  of  Andover  town, 
On  that  morning  of  long  ago, 
And  swift  was  the  riding  up  and  down, 

And  the  galloping  to  and  fro. 
The  judge  was  there  in  his  stately  wig, 

The  parson  in  rustling  gown, 
And  the  parish  doctor  in  bran  new  rig, 
Huzzaed  for  the  brave  old  town. 

"  Huzza,  huzza,  there's  the  tattered  flag 

We  carried  at  Bunker  Hill !" 
How  the  old  eyes  shine,  and  the  old  heads  wag, 

As  over  the  distant  hill, 
With  drum  and  fife,  and  in  brave  array, 

The  scholars  of  Phillipps'  school 
Escorted  the  veterans,  old  and  gray, 

Who  had  shaken  the  British  rule. 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  125 

jit  last  in  the  distance  a  dusty  cloud, 

A  sound  as  of  horse's  feet, 
But  they  never  moved,  and  they  spoke  not  loud, 

And  they  heard  their  own  hearts  beat. 
Then  a  forward  rush,  and  a  mighty  cheer, 

And  a  boom  of  the  Yorktown  gun, 
As  across  the  plain  to  their  old  eyes  clear, 

Rode  the  General — Washington. 

He  was  tall  of  figure,  and  grand  of  face, 

With  an  eye  which  was  deep  and  blue, 
And  an  air  which  told  that  he  came  from  race 

Who  to  freedom  and  God  were  true. 
And  they  rent  the  air  with  their  joyful  shout 

With  their  cries  of"  Welcome— Hail !" 
He  had  cheered  them  often  in  storm  and  rout, 

Unchanged,  when  their  cheeks  were  pale. 

They  pressed  up  close  to  his  bridle  rein, 

They  touched  his  extended  hand. 
He  had  shared  their  hunger,  their  cold,  their  pain, 

And  the  strife  of  their  anguished  land. 
His  homeliest  wishes  for  shelter  and  food 

They  served  with  the  tenderest  care, 
The  wise  and  the  simple,  the  gentle  and  rude, 

All  had  in  his  welcome  a  share. 

Still  they  served  him  not  upon  1  tended  knee, 

As  serfs  did  their  lords  of  yore, 
They  gave  him  the  homage  of n  who  were  fre<a, 

And  the  love  of  their  heart's  deep  core. 


126  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

That  he  praised  our  town  we  nowhere  read, 

Though  he  called  Pentucket  fair ; 
A.nd  he  did  not  say  that  in  word  or  deed, 

He  thought  we  were  rich  or  rare. 

But  he  left  a  token  of  favoring  grace 

To  a  maiden  of  Andover  town. 
A  maid  who  sprang  from  an  ancient  race, 

And  a  name  of  good  renown, 
An  honored  guest  in  her  father's  inn, 

He  was  turning  to  leave  the  door, 
When  he  found  in  his  riding  glove  of  tan, 

A  rent  never  seen  before- 

And  looking  surprised  he  caught  her  smile, 

You  knew  it,  I  think  he  said. 
That  you  will  mend  it,  I  am  almost  sure, 

For  you  have  needle  and  thread. 
Then  drawing  the  glove  from  his  shapely  hand 

He  watched,  as  with  stitches  neat 
She  fastened  together  the  loosened  seam, 

Her  fingers — slender  and  fleet 


*»v 


She  finished  her  task ;  a  little  she  paused ; 

Then  handed  it  with  curtsey  low ; 
But,  bowing  and  smiling,  he  left  a  kiss 

On  her  mantling  cheek  and  brow. 
Then  with  flag  and  drum  he  was  swept  away 

To  the  mansion  upon  the  hill, 
And  they  laughed  at  the  maiden  for  many  a  day, 

Because  she  was  grave  and  still. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  121 

Tis  a  pleasant  tale,  and  a  century  now, 

Since  the  courtly  kiss  was  given. 
The  maid  and  the  chief  in  their  graves  sleep  low, 

Their  souls  we  hope  are  in  Heaven. 
Nothing  1  know  of  the  maiden's  life, 

If  she  had  husband  or  son. 
What  matters  its  joys,  its  peace,  its  strife, 

She  was  kissed  by  Washington. 


PRESIDENT  WASHINGTON'S  RECEPTIONS. 


HE  devoted  one  hour  every  other  Tuesday,  from 
three  to  four,  to  these  visits.  He  understood 
himself  to  be  visited  as  the  "  President  of  the  United 
States,"  and  not  on  his  own  account.  He  was  not  to 
he  seen  by  anybody  and  everybody;  but  required 
that  every  one  who  came  should  be  introduced  by 
his  Secretary,  or  by  some  gentleman  whom  he  knew 
himself.  He  lived  on  the  south  side  of  Market  Street, 
just  below  Sixth.  The  place  of  reception  was  the 
dining-room  in  the  rear,  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  in 
length,  including  the  bow  projecting  over  into  the 
garden.  Mrs.  Washington  received  her  visitors  in 
the  two  rooms  on  the  second  floor,  from  front  to 
n-ar. 

A.t  three  o'clock,  or  ai  any  time  within  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  afterward,  the  visitor  was  conducted  to  this 
dining-room,  from  which  all  scats  had  been  removed 
for  the  time  On  entering,  he  saw  the  tall,  manly 
Sgure  of  Washington  clad  in  black  velvet;  his  hair 


128  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

in  fall  dress,  powdered  and  gathered  behind  in  a 
large  silk  bag;  yellow  gloves  on  his  hands;  holding 
a  cocked  hat  with  cockade  in  it,  and  the  edges 
adorned  with  a  black  feather,  about  an  inch  deep.. 
He  wore  knee  and  shoe  buckles ;  and  a  long  sword) 
with  a  finely  wrought  and  polished  steel  hilt.  The 
scabbard  was  white  polished  leather. 

He  stood  always  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  with  hi* 
face  toward  the  door  of  entrance.  The  visitor  was 
conducted  to  him,  and  he  required  to  have  the  name 
so  distinctly  pronounced  that  he  could  hear  it.  He 
had  the  very  uncommon  faculty  of  associating  a 
man's  name  and  personal  appearance  so  durably  in 
his  memory,  as  to  be  able  to  call  any  one  by  name 
who  made  a  second  visit.  He  received  his  visitor 
with  a  dignified  bow,  while  his  hands  were  so  dis- 
posed of  as  to  indicate  that  the  salutation  was  not  to 
be  accompanied  with  shaking  hands.  This  ceremony 
never  occurred  in  these  visits,  even  with  his  most 
near  friends,  that  no  distinction  might  be  made. 

As  these  visitors  came  in,  they  formed  a  circle 
round  the  room.  At  a  quarter-past  three,  the  door 
was  closed,  and  the  circle  was  formed  for  that  day. 
He  then  began  on  the  right  and  spoke  to  each  visitor, 
calling  him  by  name  and  exchanging  a  few  words 
with  him.  When  he  had  completed  his  circuit 
he  resumed  his  first  position,  and  the  visitors  ap- 
proached him  in  succession,  bowed  and  retired.  By 
four  o'clock  the  ceremony  was  over. 

On  the  evenings  Mrs.  Washington  received  visitors. 
he  did  not  consider  himself  as  visited.     He  was  then 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  129 

as  a  private  gentleman,  dressed  usually  in  some  col- 
ored coat  and  waistcoat,  often  brown  with  bright 
buttons,  and  black  on  his  lower  limbs.  He  had  then 
neither  hat  nor  sword ;  he  moved  about  among  the 
company,  conversing  with  one  and  another.  He  had 
once  a  fortnight  an  official  dinner,  and  select  com- 
panies on  other  days.  He  sat  (it  is  said)  at  the  side 
in  a  central  position,  Mrs.  Washington  opposite ;  the 
two  ends  were  occupied  by  members  of  his  family,  or 

by  personal  friends. 

William  Sullivan. 


THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  WASHINGTON. 


THE  birthday  of  the  "  Father  of  his  Country !" 
May  it  ever  be  freshly  remembered  by  Ameri- 
can hearts !  May  it  ever  reawaken  in  them  a  filial 
veneration  for  his  memory;  ever  rekindle  the  fires 
of  patriotic  regard  for  the  country  which  he  loved 
80  well,  to  which  he  gave  his  youthful  vigor  and  his 
youthful  energy;  to  which  he  devoted  his  hfe  in 
the  maturity  of  his  powers,  in  the  field ;  to  which 
again  he  offered  the  counsels  of  his  wisdom  and  his 
experience  as  president  of  the  convention  that  framed 
our  Constitution ;  which  he  guided  and  directed 
while  in  the  chair  of  state,  and  for  which  the  last 
prayer  of  his  earthly  supplication  was  offered  up, 
when  it  came  the  moment  for  him  so  well,  and  so 
grandly,  and  so  calmly,  to  die.  He  was  the  first  man 
of  the  time  in  which  he  grew.  His  memory  is  first 
and  most  sacred  in  our  .^ve,  and  ever  hereafter,  till 
9 


130  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

the  last  drop  of  blood  shall  freeze  in  the  last  AmeA 
can  heart,  his  name  shall  be  a  spell  of  power  and 
of  might. 

Yes,   gentlemen,  there  is  one  personal,  one   vast 
felicity,  which  no  man  can  share  with  him.     It  was 
the  daily  beauty  and  towering  and  matchless  glory 
of  his  life  which   enabled  him  to  create  his  country, 
and  at  the  same  time  secure  an  undying  love  and 
regard  from  the  whole  American  people.     "  The  first 
in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen !"     Yes,  first !     He 
has  our  first  and  most  fervent  love.     Undoubtedly 
there  were  brave  and  wise  and  good  men  before  his 
day,  in  every  colony.     But  the  American  nation,  as 
a  nation,  I  do  not  reckon  to  have  begun  before  1774, 
and  the  first  love  of  that  young  America  was  AVash- 
ington.      The  first  word  she  lisped  was   his  name. 
Her  earliest  breath  spoke  it.     It  still  is  her  proud 
ejaculation ;  and  it  will  be  the  last  gasp  of  her  expir- 
ing life !     Yes ;  others  of  our  great  men  have  been 
appreciated — many  admired   by  all — but    him    we 
love ;  him  we  all  love.     About  and  around  him  we 
call  up   no  dissentient,  discordant,  and  dissatisfied 
elements — no  sectional  prejudice  nor  bias — no  party, 
no  creed,  no  dogma  of  politics.     None  of  these  shall 
assail  him.     Yes;    when  the  storm  of  battle  blows 
darkest  and  rages  highest,  the  memory  of  Washing- 
ton  shall  nerve  every  American  arm  and  cheer  every 
American  heart.     It  shall  relume  that  Promethean 
fire,  that  sublime  flame  of  patriotism,  that  devoted 
love  of  country  which  his  words  have  commended, 
which  his  example  has  consecrated : 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  131 

u  Where  may  the  wearied  eye  repose, 

When  gazing  on  the  great ; 
Where  neither  guilty  glory  glows 

Nor  despicable  state  ? 
yes — one — the  first,  the  last,  the  best* 
The  Cincinnatus  of  the  West, 

Whom  Envy  dared  not  hate, 
Bequeathed  the  name  of  Washington. 
To  make  man  blush,  there  was  but  one." 

Kujfus  Choatk 


EASTER 


THE  FLOWER'S  EASTER  MESSAG& 

Permission  of  D.  Lothrop  Company. 

FRESH  hope  and  cheer 
By  symbol  clear 
The  flowers  brings  us,  year  by  year. 

They  bloom,  they  fall, 
They  slumber  all ; 
The  brown  earth  is  their  funeral  pall; 

But  lo  I  some  day 
Along  our  way, 
They  live  again,  as  sweet  and  gay; 

For  earth's  dark  tomb 
But  hid  in  gloom 
The  life  that  now  doth  newly  bloom. 

Oh !  then  repeat 
Your  message  sweet, 
Dear  flowers,  blooming  at  our  feet; 

And  this  new  spring 
Help  us  to  fling 
Aside  our  doubt  and  wondering ; 

To  hope  and  trust 
That  all  life  must, 
like  yours,  be  rescued  from  the  dust, 

Emilie  Pouweom 
182 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  135 

MARY  AT  THE  SEPULCHRE. 


*  HTHEN,  while  the  first  day  of  the  week  was  dark, 

J-     Alone  I  wended  to  the  sepulchre, 
Bearing  fair  water,  and  the  frankincense, 
And  linen,  that  my  Lord's  sweet  body  sleep 
Well  in  the  rock.     And  while  my  woeful  feet 
Passed  through  the  gate,  and  up  the  paved  ascent 
Along  the  second  wall,  over  the  hill, 
Into  that  garden,  hard  by  Golgotha, 
The  morning  brightened  over  Moab's  peaks, 
Touched  the  great  temple's  dome  with  crimson  fires, 
Lit  Ophel  and  Moriah  rosy-red, 
Made  Olivet  all  gold,  and,  in  the  pools 
In  Hinnom  laid  a  sudden  lance  of  flame, 
And,  from  the  thorn-trees,  brake  the  waking  songs 
Of  little  birds ;  and  every  palm-tree's  top 
Was  full  of  doves  that  cooed,  as  knowing  not 
How  Love  was  dead,  and  Life's  dear  glory  gone, 
And  the  world's  hope  lay  in  the  tomb  with  Him; 
Which  now  I  spied — that  hollow  in  the  rock 
Under  the  camphire  leaves.     Yet,  no  guards  there 
To  help  me  roll  away  the  stone !  nay,  and  no  stone ! 
It  lay  apart,  leaving  the  door  a-gape, 
And  through  the  door,  as  I  might  dimly  see, 
The  scattered  wrappings  of  the  burial-night. 
I  sped  ;  and  came  to  Peter,  and  to  .John; 
And  cried:     'Our  Lord  is  stolen  from  His  grave 
And  none  to  tell  where  He  is  borne  away!' 
Thereat,  they  ran  together,  came,  and  saw* 
And  entered  in;  and  found  the  linen-cloths 


134  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Scattered  ;  the  rock-bed  empty ;  and,  amazed, 

Back  to  their  house  they  went.     But  I  drew  nigh 

A  second  time,  alone ;  heart-broken  now, 

The  bright  day  seeming  blackest  night  to  me. 

Why  should  earth  wake,  the  Son  of  Man  asleep? 

Fled,  too,  my  last  fond  hope,  to  lay  Him  fair, 

And  kiss  His  wounded  feet,  and  wash  the  blood 

From  the  pierced  palms,  and  comb  His  tangled  hail 

To  comeliness,  and  leave  Him — like  a  King — 

To  His  forgetful  angels.     Weeping  hard 

With  these  thoughts,  like  to  snake-fangs  stinging:  me 

My  left  hand  on  the  stone  I  laid,  and  shut 

The  eager  sunshine  off  with  my  right  hand, 

Kneeling,  and  looking  in  the  sepulchre. 

tt  was  not  dark  within  !     I  deemed  at  first 

A  lamp  burned  there,  such  radiance  mild  I  sa'Sf 

Lighting  the  hewn  walls,  and  the  linen  bands } 

&nd,  in  one  corner,  folded  by  itself, 

The  face-cloth.     Coming  closer,  I  espied 

Two  men  who  sate  there — very  watchfully-^ 

One  at  the  head,  the  other  at  the  foot 

Of  that  stone  table  where  my  Lord  had  lain. 

Oh !  I  say,  '  men  ' — I  should  have  known  no  noen 

Had  eyes  like  theirs,  shapes  so  majestical, 

Tongues  turned  to  such  a  music  as  the  tone 

Wherewith  they  questioned  me: '  Why  weepest  thcttT 

4  Ah,  sirs  !'  I  said, '  My  Lord  is  ta'en  away, 

Nor  wot  we  whither  !'  and  thereat  my  tears 

Blotted  all  seeing.     So,  I  turned  to  wipe 

The  hot  drops  off;  and,  look  !  another  one 

Standing  behind  me,  and  my  foolish  eyes 

-Hard  gazing  on  Him,  and  not  knowing  Him  I 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  135 

Indeed,  I  deemed  this  was  the  gardener; 
Albeit,  if  I  had  marked — such  light 
Of  loveliest  compassion  in  His  face, 
Had  told  my  beating  heart  and  blinded  eyes 
WHO  this  must  be.     But  I — my  brow  i'  the  dust- 
Heard  him  say  softly :     '  Wherefore  weepest  thou  ? 
Whom  seekest  thou  ?'     A  little  marvelled  I — 
Still  at  His  foot,  too  sorrowful  to  rise- 
He  should  ask  this,  the  void  grave  gaping  near; 
Nathless,  not  lifting  up  my  foolish  head, 
*  Sir,'  said  I,  '  if  'tis  thou  hast  borne  Him  hence, 
Tell  me  where  thou  hast  laid  Him.     Then  will  I  bear 

Him  away !' " 

"  What  answer  came  to  that?" 
"  Ah,  friend,  such  answer  that  my  sadness  turned 
Gladness,  as  suddenly  as  gray  is  gold 
Wben  the  sun  springs  in  glory  !     A  dear  word 
Spoke  first  to  me,  and,  after  me,  to  all. 
That  all  may  always  know  He  is  the  Lord, 
And  Death  is  dead,  and  new  times  come  to  men; 
Anil  Heaven's  ways  justified,  and  Christ  alive, 
Whom  we  saw  die,  nailed  on  the  cruel  cross! 
For,  while  I  lay  there,  sobbing  at  His  feet, 
The  word  He  spake — My  Lord  !  my  King !  my  Christ! 
Was  my  name: 

<  MARY !' 

No  language  had  I  then, 
No  language  have  I  now!  only  1  turned 
My  «iuiek   glance  upward;  saw   Him;  knew  Him! 

sprang 
Crying:  'Rabboni! — Lord!  my  Lord  !  dear  Lord!"1 

Sin  Edwin  Arnold. 


136  HOLIDAY    SELECTION* 

PEACE. 


E 


j^RE  our  dear  Saviour  spoke  the  parting  word 
To  those  who  loved  Him  best  when  here  belonj 
While  deep  emotion  every  bosom  stirred, 
He  said,  "  My  peace  I  give  you  ere  I  go !" 

His  Peace,  sweet  Peace !    As  falls  the  summer  dew 
On  drooping  flowers,  so  fell  those  words  of  cheer 

Upon  the  earnest  hearts  that  dimly  knew 
What  they,  like  their  dear  Lord,  must  suffer  here. 

His  Peace — Christ's  Peace !     0  gift  most  rare    and 
strange ! 

Never  was  aught  so  precious  given  before ! 
Vain  trifler  he  who  would  that  gift  exchange 

For  all  the  riches  of  Goleonda's  shore ! 

His  Peace — His  blessed  Peace !  Not  Joy,  the  bright, 
Bewildering  sprite  that  charmed  their  early  years, 

When  with  youth's  roses  crowned,  and  clad  in  light, 
Her  radiant  eyes  had  ne'er  been  dimm'd  by  tears,— < 

But  Peace  that  walks  with  Patience,  side  by  side, 
Bearing  Heaven's  seal  upon  her  pure,  calm  face; 

€hild  of  Submission,  whatsoe'er  betide, 

She  wears  the  white  robes  of  celestial  grace. 

0  Christ!  whose  human  heart  remembers  still 

The  pangs  from  which  death  only  gave  release, 
Strange  griefs,  strange  fears,  our  yearning  souls  rnuot 
fill, 
Withhold  what  else  thou  wilt — but  give  us  Peace  1 

Julia  C.  R.  Dorr. 


FOE   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  13* 

THE  EASTER  ALTAR-CLOTH. 


SOLEMN  days   of  Lent  are   closing,  and  in  soft 
ethereal  light 
Earth  and  sky  delay,  transfigured,  at  the  sepulchre 

of  night, 
While  reluctant  steal  the  shadows  o'er  the  smoothly- 
burnished  sea, 
Loth  to  gloom  the  shining  pageant  with  their  pur- 
ple mystery. 

Yonder,  where  the  misty  sunlight  on   that  distant 

city  Mis, 
Stands  a  convent,  dark  and  stately,  rearing  high  its 

ancient  walls. 
Long  ago — so  runs  the  story — at  this  very  day  and 

hour, 
Wan  and  pale  a  nun  was  sitting  in  that  topmost 

gloomy  tower. 

On  her  lap  were  folds  of  beauty,  broidered  with  the 

finest  art, 
Gleaming  with  the  sacred  symbols  she  had  wrought 

so  long  apart ; 
^nd  the  fabric's   dazzling  whiteness,  marvelous   in 

leaf  and  line, 
Weemed  a  snowdrift  frosted  over  with  each  emblem* 

atic  sign. 

\h,  how  many  years  in  secret  she  had  labored,  day 
by  day, 


138  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

That  some  happy  Easter  morning  she  might  on  the 

altar  lay 
There  at  last  her  precious  treasure,  as  an  offering  to 

her  Lord, 
With  each  thread  a  prayer  inwoven  answering  to  Hia 

holy  Word. 

Now  her  task  is  almost  ended ;  all  but  finished  there 

it  lies ! 
In  and  out  the  needle  glances — fast,  and  faster  still 

it  flies — 
While  the  last  rich  beams  of  sunset  o'er  the  dusky 

gloaming  come, 
Flinging  bars  of  golden  glory  in  the  narrow,  sombre 

room. 

In  those  wondrous  lights  and  shadows  Rembrandt 

loved  to  paint  so  well 
Like  a  patron-saint  of  Labor  there  she  sits — but  list  J 

a  bell 
Strikes  upon  the  breathless  silence,  and  she  starts  up 

cold  and  white, 
u  Yet  again,  and  must  I  leave  thee  !  Oh !  I  cannot  go 

to-night ! 

u  I  must  stay  my  dream  to  finish ;  some  one  else  can 

do  I  know 
Just  as  well  my  every  duty  if  for  once  I  do  not  go. 
Peace !  begone,  temptations  evil !  longer  here  I  must 

not  stay  " — 
Ind  she  crossed  herself  and  sadly  laid  the  glistening 

cloth  away. 


FOB   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  139 

Clad  in  mournful  sable  habit  through  the  doorway 

see  her  glide, 
Through  the  corridors,  as  silent,  through  the  arching 

portals  wide ; 
Out  across  the  court  deserted,  till,  at  length,  she  gains 

the  street, 
Mingles  with  the  throng,  uor  pauses  till  her  tired 

aching  feet 

Reach  the  hospital  that  rises  just  outside  the  city's 

wall, 
Where  itd  dark,  funereal   shadow  on  the  landscape 

throws  a  pall. 
Safe   at  last   within  its   shelter  from  the   tempter's 

dreaded  claim, 
Dying  eyes  are  watching   for  her,  dying  murmurs 

speak  her  name. 

Here  she  sits  beside  a  pallet,  reading  words  of  cheer, 

and  there 
Kneels  and  wafts  a  soul  to  heaven  on  the  faithful 

wings  of  prayer, 
Thu*  employed  with  ceaseless  mission  night  anon  haa 

worn  away, 
And   the   starry  hosts  have   vanished   through   the 

glowing  arch  of  day. 

Like  another  fleeting  shadow,  does  the  gentle  sister 

seem, 
Aa  sh*;  .steals  back  to  the  convent  in  the  morning's 

early  gleam. 


140  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

And  a  thousand  silver  voices  ring  out  on  the  Easter 

air 
As  she  enters  through  the  doorway,  climbs  again  the 

winding  stair. 

She  has  reached  the  cell  so  dreary  where  she  sees 
with  saddest  heart 

Snowy  cloth  outspread  before  her — but  what  means 
that  sudden  start  ? 

Lo !  in  perfect  beauty,  finished  there  each  vine,  each 
symbol  lies — 

Who  has  guessed  her  guarded  secret  ?  Who  pre- 
pared this  strange  surprise? 

While   she    stands,  perplexed   with    wonder,    see,  a 

brightness  floods  the  room, 
Greater  than  the  noontide's  splendor,  rarer  than  the 

dawning 's  bloom. 
Prostrate  low  before  the  vision,  thrilled  with  love,  she 

knows  full  well 

Only  pitying  hands  of  angels  could  have  wrought 

that  miracle. 

Julia  H.  Thayer. 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  THE  ROSES. 


THERE  dwelt  in  Bethlehem  a  Jewish  maid, 
And  Zillah  was  her  name ;  so  passing  fair 
That  all  Judea  spake  the  virgin's  praise. 
He  who  had  seen  her  eye's  dark  radiance, 
How  it  revealed  her  soul,  and  what  a  soui ! 


FOR    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS  141 

Beamed  in  the  mild  effulgence,  woe  to  him ! 
For  not  in  solitude,  for  not  in  crowds. 
Might  he  escape  remembrance,  nor  avoid 
Her  imaged  form  which  followed  everywhere, 
And  filled  the  heart  and  fixed  the  absent  gaze. 
Alas  for  him !  her  bosom  owned  no  love 
Save  the  strong  ardor  of  religious  zeal ; 
For  Zillah  upon  heaven  had  centred  all 
Her  spirit's  deep  affections.     So  for  her 
Her  tribesmen  sighed  in  vain,  yet  reverenced 
The  firm  resolve  that  destroyed  their  hopes. 

One  man  there  was,  a  vain  and  wretched  man, 
Who  saw,  desired,  despaired,  and  hated  her. 
She  loathed  the  man,  for  Hamuel's  eye  was  bold, 
And  the  strong  workings  of  brute  selfishness 
Had  molded  his  broad  features ;  and  she 
Feared  the  bitterness  of  wounded  vanity. 
Nor  vain  her  fear,  for  Hamuel  vowed  revenge, 
And  laid  a  plot  against  her  spotless  fame. 
He  spread  abroad  whispers  and  ill  reports 
That  soon  obtained  belief;  how  Zillah 's  eye, 
When,  in  the  temple,  heavenward  it  was  raised, 
Did  swim  with  rapturous  zeal,  but  there  were  those 
Who  had  beheld  the  enthusiast's  melting  glance 
With  other  feelings  filled  ;  that  Zillah 's life  was  evil. 
Yea,  and  should  be  forfeit  to  the  law. 
Shame,  shame  to  man  that  he  should  trust 
The  tongue  that  stabs  another's  fame  ! 
The  ill-report  was  heard,  repeated,  and  believed, 
And  soon,  for  Hamuel,  by  his  well-schemed  villainy. 


142  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Produced  such  semblances  of  guilt, 
The  maid  was  to  the  fire  condemned. 

Without  the  wall  there  was  a  barren  field, 
A  place  abhorred  ;  for  there  wretched  criminals 
Received  their  doom  !     There  they  fixed  the  stake, 
And  piled  the  fuel  round  the  injured  maid, 
Abandoned,  as  it  seemed,  by  God  and  man. 
The  assembled  Bethlehemites  beheld  the  scene, 
And  when  they  saw  the  maid  bound  to  the  stake. 
With  what  calm  holiness  she  lifted  up 
Her  patient  looks  to  heaven,  they  doubted  her  guilt. 
With  other  thoughts  stood  Hamuel  near  the  pile  ; 
Savage  joy  had  led  him  thitherward. 
But  now  within  his  heart  unwonted  feelings  stirred, 
And  the  first  pangs  of  awakening  guilt. 
The  eye  of  Zillah  fell  on  the  slanderer  once, 
And  rested  on  him  for  a  moment : 
Like  a  dagger  it  pierc'd  and  struck  into  his  soul. 
Conscience !  thou  God  within  us  !     Not  in  the  hour 
Of  triumph  dost  thou  spare  the  guilty  wretch ; 
Not  in  the  hour  of  infamy  and  death 
Forsake  the  faithful !     They  draw  near  the  stake — 
They  bring  the  torch — hold  !  hold  your  erring  hands ! 
Yet  quench  the  rising  flames  !  they  rise  !  they  spread ! 
They  reach  the  suffering  maid.     0  God !  protect 
The  innocent  one ! 

They  rose,  they  spread,  they  raged ; 
The  breath  of  God  went  forth  :  the  ascending  fire 
Beneath  its  influence  bent,  and  all  its  flames 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  143 

In  one  long  lightning  flash  concentrating, 
Darted  and  blasted  Hamuel — him  alone ! 

****** 
Hark !  what  a  fearful  scream  the  multitude 
Pour  forth  !     And  yet  more  miracles !  the  stake 
Branches  and  buds,  and  spreading  its  green  leaves, 
Empowers  and  canopies  the  innocent  maid, 
Who  there  stands  glorified ;  and  roses,  then, 
First  seen  on  earth  since  Paradise  was  lost, 
Profusely  bloom  around  her,  white  and  red, 
In  all  their  rich  variety  of  hues; 
And  fragrance,  such  as  our  first  parents  breathed 
In  Eden,  she  inhales,  vouchsafed  to  her 
A.  presage  sure  of  Paradise  regained  1 

Robert  Southei 


O  CHRIST,  OUR  KING. 


OBABE  of  Bethlehem,  I  pause  to  hear 
The  angel  voices  chiming  sweet  and  clew; 
I  lift  my  eyes  to  seek  the  wondrous  star 
That  led  the  wise  men  from  their  home  afar; 
I  bend  with  them  in  humblest  awe  to  see 
The  Kingly  One  who  sal  on  Mary's  knee! 
The  lowly,  meek,  yet  royal  One,  who  bore 
The  burden  of  the  cross  till  life  was  o'er. 
O  Christ,  our  King,  half  mortal,  all  divine, 
Who  e'er  can  comprehend  such  love  as  thine? 


£■44  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

BACK  AGAIN! 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company, 

THE  chill  snows  lingered,  the  spring  was  late, 
It  seemed  a  weariful  while  to  wait 
For  warmth,  and  fragrance,  and  song,  and  flowers. 
And  balmy  airs  and  delicious  showers. 

But  we  bided  our  time,  and  with  patient  eyes 
We  watched  the  slowly  relenting  skies, 
Till  at  last  one  April  morning  we  woke 
To  find  we  were  free  of  the  winter's  yoke, 

And  a  rush  of  wings  through  the  rushing  rain 
Told  us  the  birds  were  back  again. 
A  joyous  tumult  we  heard  aloft — 
Clear,  rippling  music  and  fluttering  soft. 

So  light  of  heart  and  so  light  of  wing, 
All  hope  of  summer,  delight  of  spring, 
They  seemed  to  utter  with  voices  sweet, 
Upborne  on  their  airy  pinions  fleet. 

Dainty,  delicate,  lovely  things ! 
Would  that  my  thoughts,  like  you,  had  ■  /rings 
To  match  your  grace,  your  charm,  your  cheer, 
Your  fine,  melodious  atmosphere ! 

Precious  and  beautiful  gifts  of  God, 
Scattered  through  heaven  and  earth  abroad ! 
Who,  ungrateful,  would  do  you  wrong, 
Check  your  flight  and  your  golden  song  ? 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  14J 

O  friendly  spirits !  0  sweet,  sweet  birds ! 
Would  I  could  put  my  welcome  in  words 
Fit  for  such  singers  as  you  to  hear, 
Sky-born  minstrels  and  poets  dear ! 

Celia  Thaxter. 


IN  THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  DAY. 

f^ta  Harper's  Magazine.    Copyright  1890  by  Harper  &  Brottram 

IN  the  gray  of  Easter  even, 
When  the  light  begins  to  fade, 
Fly  two  angels  out  of  heaven, 

Veiled  in  vesper  shade. 
And  they  watch  by  those  who  sleep, 

As  they  watch  Immanuel's  rest, 
And  they  comfort  all  who  weep, 

As  they  soothed  sad  Mary's  breast. 
Soft  they  whisper  through  the  night, 
«*  Wait  until  the  morning  light ! 
From  your  sorrow  look  away 
To  the  breaking  of  the  day  I" 

In  the  Easter  dawn  victorious, 

AAThen  the  stars  in  rose-light  fade, 
Rise  those  angels  plumed  and  glorious 

Like  the  sun  arrayed. 
And  they  gather  up  the  flowers 

From  the  purple  plains  of  morning, 
Far  and  wide  in  bloomy  showers, 

Graves  of  midnight  woe  adorning— 
10 


146  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Saying,  singing,  "  Christ  is  risen  I 
Watch  no  more  the  open  prison ; 
He  has  led  your  loved  away 
In  the  breaking  of  the  day  !" 

Francis  L.  Mace. 


THE  DREAM  THAT  CAME  TRUE. 


A  NIGH  a  frozen  mere  a  cottage  stood, 
A  piercing  wind  swept  round  and  shook  the  doors 
The  shrunken  door,  an  easy  way  made  good, 

And  drove  long  drifts  of  snow  along  the  floor. 
It  sparkled  there  like  diamonds,  for  the  moon 
Was  shining  in,  and  night  was  at  the  noon. 

Before  her  dying  embers,  bent  and  pale, 
A  woman  sat  because  her  bed  was  cold ; 

She  heard  the  wind,  the  driving  sleet  and  hail, 
And  she  was  hunger-bitten,  weak,  and  old  ; 

Yet  while  she  cowered,  and  while  the  casement  shook, 

Upon  her  trembling  knees  she  held  a  book. 

A  comfortable  book  to  them  that  mourn, 
And  good  to  raise  the  courage  of  the  poor ; 

It  lifts  the  veil  and  shows  beyond  the  bourne, 
Their  Elder  Brother,  from  His  home  secure, 

That  for  them  desolate  He  died  to  win, 

Repeating,  "  Come,  ye  blessed,  enter  in." 

What  thought  she  on,  this  woman?     On  her  day* 
Of  toil,  or  on  the  supperless  night  forlorn  ? 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  147 

I  think  not  so  ;  the  heart  but  seldom  weighs 

With  conscious  care  a  burden  always  borne; 
And  she  was  used  to  these  things,  had  grown  old 
In  fellowship  with  toil,  hunger,  and  cold. 

Then  did  she  think  how  sad  it  was  to  live 
Of  all  the  good  this  world  can  yield  bereft? 

No,  her  untutored  thoughts  she  did  not  give 
To  such  a  theme  ;  but  in  their  warp  and  weft 

She  wove  a  prayer;  then  in  the  midnight  deep 

Faintly  and  slow  she  fell  away  to  sleep. 

A  strange,  a  marvelous  sleep,  which  brought  a  dream, 
And  it  was  this :     that  all  at  once  she  heard 

The  pleasant  babbling  of  a  little  stream 
That  ran  beside  her  door,  and  then  a  bird 

Broke  out  in  song.     She  looked,  and  lo !  the  rime 

And  snow  had  melted ;  it  was  summer  time ! 

She  said,  "  I  will  betake  mo  to  my  door, 

And  will  look  out  and  see  this  wondrous  sight, 

How  summer  is  come  back,  and  frost  is  o'er, 
And  all  the  air  warm  waxen  in  a  night." 

With  that  she  opened,  but  for  fear  she  cried, 

For  lo !  two  angels — one  on  either  side. 

And  while  she  looked,  with  marveling  measureless, 
The  angels  stood  conversing  face  to  face, 

But  neither  spoke  to  her.     "  The  wilderness," 
One  angel  said.  "  that  solitary  place, 

Shall  yet  be  glad  for  Him."     And  then  full  fain 

The  other  angel  answered,  "  He  shall  reign." 


148  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

And  tyhen  the  woman  heard,  in  wondering  Trise, 
She  whispered,  "  They  are  speaking  of  my  Lord.'5 

And  straightway  swept  across  the  open  skies 
Multitudes  like  to  these.     They  took  the  word, 

That  flock  of  angels,  "  He  shall  come  again, 

My  Lord,  my  Lord !"  they  sang,  "and  He  shall  reign.* 

Then  they,  drawn  up  into  the  blue  o'erhead, 
Right  happy,  shining  ones,  made  haste  to  flee ; 

And  those  before  her,  one  to  other  said, 

"  Behold  He  stands  beneath  yon  almond  tree." 

This  when  the  woman  heard,  she  fain  had  gazed, 

But  paused  for  reverence,  and  bowed  down  amazed 

After  she  looked,  for  this  her  dream  was  deep ; 

She  looked  and  there  was  naught  beneath  the  tree; 
Yet  did  her  love  and  longing  overleap 

The  fear  of  angels,  awful  though  they  be, 
And  she  passed  out  between  the  blessed  things, 
And  brushed  her  mortal  weeds  against  their  wings. 

Oh  !  all  the  happy  world  was  in  its  best ; 

The  trees  were  covered  thick  with  buds  and  flowers, 
And  these  were  dropping  honey ;  for  the  rest, 

Sweetly  the  birds  were  piping  in  their  bowers  ; 
Across  the  grass  did  groups  of  angels  go, 
And  saints  in  pairs  were  walking  to  and  fro. 

Then  did  she  pass  toward  the  almond  tree, 
And  none  she  saw  beneath  it ;  yet  each  saint 

Upon  his  coming  meekly  bent  the  knee, 
And  all  their  glor}-  as  they  gazed  waxed  faint 


FOR    REA*  INGS    AND   RECITATIONS  149 

A*><1  then  a  lighting  angel  neared  the  place, 
And  folded  I113  fair  wings  before  his  face. 

She  .also  knelt  and  spread  her  aged  hands, 
As  feeling  for  the  sacred  human  feet; 

8he  said,  "  Mine  eyes  are  held,  but  if  He  stands 
Anear,  I  will  not  let  Him  hence  retreat 

Except  He  bless  me."     Then,  0  sweet !  0  fair  I 

Bome  words  were  spoken,  but  she  knew  not  where. 

She  knew  not  if  beneath  the  boughs  they  woke, 
Or  dropt  upon  her  from  the  realms  above, 

"  What  wilt  thou,  woman  ?"  in  the  dream  He  spoke; 
"  Thy  sorrow  moveth  me,  thyself  I  love; 

Long  have  I  counted  up  thy  mournful  years; 

Once  I  did  weep  to  wipe  away  thy  tears." 

She  said,  "  My  one  Redeemer,  only  blest, 

I  know  Thy  voice,  and  from  my  yearning  heart 

Draw  out  my  deep  desire,  my  great  request, 
My  prayer,  that  I  might  enter  where  Thou  art. 

Call  me,  0  call  from  this  world  troublesome, 

And  let  me  see  Thy  face."     He  answered,  "  Come." 

Jean  Ingelow. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  ASPEN. 


WHAT  whispers  so  strange  at  the  hour  of  mid 
ni.uht, 
From  the  aspen's  leaves  trembling  so  wildly? 
Why  in  the  lone  wood  sintrs  it  sad,  -when  the  bright 
Full  moon  bourns  upon  it  so  mildly? 


150  HOLIDAY     SELECTIONS 

It  soundeth  as  'mid  the  harp-strings  the  wind-gust, 
Or  like  sighs  of  ghosts  wandering  in  sorrow 

In  the  meadow  the  small  flowers  hear  it,  and  must 
With  tears  close  themselves  till  the  morrow. 

u  O  tell  me,  poor  wretch,  why  thou  shiverest  so,— 
Why  the  moans  of  distraction  thou  pourest; 

Say  can  thy  heart  harbor  repentance  and  woe  ? 
Citn  sin  reach  the  child  of  the  forest  ?" 

u  Yes,"  sighed  forth  the  tremulous  voice, — "  for  thji 
race 

Has  not  alone  fallen  from  its  station ; 
Not  alone  art  thou  seeking  for  comfort  and  grace, 

Nor  alone  art  thou  called  to  salvation. 

"  I've  heard,  too,  the  voice,  which,  with  heaven  recon- 
ciled, 

The  earth  to  destruction  devoted ; 
But  the  storm  from  my  happiness  hurried  me  wild, 

Though  round  me  joy's  melodies  floated. 

u  By  Kedron  I  stood,  and  the  bright  beaming  eye 

I  viewed  of  the  pitying  Power ; 
Each  tree  bowed  its  head,  as  -the  Saviour  passed  by, 

But  I  deigned  not  my  proud  head  to  lower. 

■  I  towered  to  the  cloud,  whilst  the  lilies  sang  sweet, 
And  the  rose  bent  its  stems  in  devotion ; 

I  strewed  not  my  leaves  'fore  the  Holy  One's  feet, 
Nor  bough  nor  twig  set  I  in  motion. 

•Then  sounded  a  sigh  from  the  Saviour's  breast; 
And  I  quaked,  for  that  sigh  through  me  darted  : 


FOR   HEADINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  151 

'  Quake  so  till  I  come !'  said  the  voice  of  the  Blest ; 
My  repose  then  forever  departed. 

*  And  now  must  I  tremble  Ly  night  and  by  day, 

For  me  there  no  moment  of  ease  is ; 
C  must  sigh  with  regret  in  such  dolorous  way, 

"While  each  now'ret  can  smile  when  it  pleases. 

u  And  tremble  shall  I  till  the  last  day  arrive, 

And  I  view  the  Redeemer  returning; 
My  sorrow  and  punishment  long  will  survive, 

Till  the  world  shall  in  wild  flames  be  burning." 

So  whispers  the  doomed  one  at  midnight ;  its  tone 
Is  that  of  ghosts  wandering  in  sorrow ; 

The  small  flowers  hear  it  within  the  wood  lone, 
And  with  tears  close  themselves  till  the  morrow, 
Bernhard  Severin  Ingemann. 


THE  BLIND  COMMUNICANT. 


THE    Savioui's    feast    was  spread.     Group    aftei 
group 
From  Zion's  scattering  band  now  silent  thronged 
Around  the  sacred  table,  glad  to  pay, 
As  far  as  sinful,  erring  man  can  pay, 
Their  debt  of  gratitude,  and  share  anew 
The  plain  memorials  of  Tlis  dying  love. 
All  ranks  were  gathered  there.     The  rich  and  poor, 
The  ignorant  and  wise;  the  tear-wet  soul, 
And  the  glad  spirit  yet  in  sunshine  clad. 
Ail,  with  their  many  hopes  and  cares  and  griefs, 


152  HOLIDAY"  SELECTIONS? 

Sought  quiet  and  unmarked  their  'customed  plaoe; 

And  still  at  the  mil  banquet  there  was  room;. 

It  was  a  solemn  season,  and  I  sat; 

Wrapped  in  a  cloud  of  thought,  until'  a  slowr 

And  measured  footstep  fell  upon  my  ear;: 

And  when  I  turned  to  look,  an  aged  mam 

Of  three-score  years  and  ten  appeared  to  view;. 

It  was  the  blind  communicant..    He  came.: 

Led  by  a  friendly  hand,  and  took  his  place.' 

Nearest  the  table  with  a  reverent  air,-. 

As  if  he  felt  the  spot  was  holy  ground.. 

There  was  a  perfect  hush:  the  hour  was  come ; 

The  symbols  were  disclosed,  and  soon  there  rose' 

The  sweet  tones  of  the  shepherd  of  the  flock, 

Telling  once  more  the  story  of  the  cross ; 

And  as  he  spoke,  in  sympathy  I  gazed 

Upon  the  blind  old  pilgrim  by  my  side. 

The  sight  was  touching.     As  the  pastor  taught 

In  accents  all  subdued,  how  Jesus  bore 

The  flight  of  friends,  the  stern  denial-vow, 

The  spear,  the  thorns,  the  agonizing  cross, 

With  want,  shame,  persecution,  torture,  death, 

The  old  man  shook,  convulsed ;  a  few  big  tears 

Ran  trickling  down  his  cheek,  and  from  his  lip 

Methought  there  came  the  words,  "  Lord  is  it  I  ?" 

But  when  there  stole  upon  each  listening  ear 

And  throbbing  heart  that  prayer  of  matchless  love, 

That  type  and  watchword  for  all  after-prayer, 

"  Father,  forgive  them  !" — then  he  clasped  his  hands, 

And,  bowing  his  hoary  head  upon  his  breast, 

Wept  even  as  a  gentle  child  might  weep. 


FORI  READINGS;  AND:  RECITATI0NS3  153 

There  was-  a.  change..     The.  bread!  and.  wine  were 

brought.. 
lie  Aviped  the  gushing  drops  from  his  thin  cheek, 
Bowed  solemnly,  received  them  both,  then  paused ; 
Till,  raising  his  dull  eyeballs  up  to  heavenj, 
As  asking  for  God's  blessing  on  the  rite,'. 
He  broke  the  bread,  received  the  goblet  close. 
Within  his  withered  hands  ;  restored  it  safe;- 
Then,  while  a  peaceful  smile  illumed  his  face,. 
Sank  back  as  in  an  ecstasy  of  bliss.. 
The  parting  hymn  was  sung,  and  oft  I  paused 
And  loved  to  listen  as  the  old  man's  voice, 
Broken  and  shrill,  sought  too  to  mingle  in 
With  modulated  tones ;  and  though  his  lip 
Uttered  no  music,  yet  I  joyed  to  know 
The  hfart  was  linked  melody  within. 
Christ's  seal  was  stamped  anew  upon  each  soul ; 
The  polemn  rite  was  finished,  and  the  band, 
Moved  full  of  thoughtful  cheerfulness  along 
The  quiet  churchyard,  where  gay  sunbeams  danced 
On  the  white  marble  tombs,  and  bright  flowers  made 
A  pleasant  home  for  Death  ;  while  'mongst  them  all 
The  blind  communicant  went  groping  on 
Along  his  midnight  path.     The  sight  was  sad; 
My  heart  yearned  for  him,  and  I  longed  for  power 
To  say  as  the  disciples  said  of  old, 
"  Blind  man,  receive  thy  sight  I"     And  in  the  might 
Of  strong  compassion  I  could  even,  methought, 
Have  entered  his  'lark  prison-house  awhile, 
And  let  him  gaze  in  turn  on  the  blue  skies 
And  the  glad  sunshine  and  the  laughing  earth. 


154  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

But  soon  I  gained  a  sense  of  higher  things, 

And  in  the  heart's  soft  dialect  I  said : 

"  Old  soldier  of  the  cross,  'tis  well  with  thee ; 

Thy  warfare  is  nigh  finished ;  and  though  earth 

Be  but  an  utter  blank,  yet  soon  thou 'It  gaze 

On  that  bright  country  where  thy  God  shall  be 

The  never-setting  sun ;  and  Christ,  thy  Lord, 

Will  lead  thee  through  green  pastures  where  the  Siill 

And  living  waters  play.     And  though  thou  art 

A  creature  lonely  and  unprized  by  men, 

Yet  thou  may'st  stand  a  prince  'mongst  princes  when 

The  King  makes  up  His  jewels." 

Mary  E.  Lee. 


THE  CROWN. 


THE  crowns  of  earth  are  jewelled  dust 
Or  weights,  the  wearer's  brow  to  press ; 
But  Thou,  O  Christ !  dost  give  the  just 
A  nobler  crown  of  righteousness. 


■■•&•* 


That  crown,  of  Thine  own  love  the  seal, 
On  Thine  a  gift  of  love  bestowed, 

Diviner  splendors  shall  reveal 

Than  e'er  on  princely  head  have  glowed. 

Ten  thousand  faithful  souls  and  true 

Now  wear  the  crown  that  wore  Thy  shame, 

That  many  a  wasting  anguish  knew, 
And  as  through  fire  to  glory  came. 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  155 

We  yet  must  wage  the  long-drawn  strife, 
And  oft  with  prayers  our  groans  ascend; 

We  battle  for  immortal  life — 

Give  strength  and  courage  to  the  end. 

Then  be  it  ours  to  hear  Thee  say, 

When  we  shall  lay  our  armor  down, — 
"  The  faith  ye  kept !  Ye  won  the  day ! 

Come,  take  and  wear  the  matchless  crown  !* 

Ray  Palmeju 


ARBOR    DAY 


SPRING. 


THE  first  sparrow  of  Spring!  The  year  begin- 
ning with  younger  hope  than  ever!  The 
faint  silvery  warblings  heard  over  the  partially 
bare  and  moist  fields  from  the  blue-bird,  the 
song-sparrow,  and  the  red-wing,  as  if  the  last 
flakes  of  winter  twinkled  as  they  fell !  What  at 
such  a  time  are  histories,  chronologies,  traditions, 
and  all  written  revelations  ?  The  brooks  sing  carols 
and  glees  to  the  spring.  The  marsh-hawk  sailing 
low  over  the  meadow  is  already  seeking  the  first  oozy 
life  that  awakes.  The  sinking  sound  of  melting 
snow  is  heard  in  all  dells,  and  the  ice  dissolves  apace 
in  the  ponds.  The  grass  flames  up  on  the  hillsides 
like  a  spring  fire, — as  if  the  earth  sent  forth  an  in. 
ward  heat  to  greet  the  returning  sun ;  not  yellow  but 
green  is  the  color  of  its  flame;  the  symbol  of  per- 
petual youth,  the  grass-blade,  like  a  long  green  rib- 
bon, streams  from  the  sod  into  the  summer,  checked 
indeed  by  the  frost,  but  anon  pushing  on  again, 
lifting  its  spear  of  last  year's  hay  with  the  fresh  life 
below. 

I  hear  a  song-sparrow  singing, — "olit,  olit,  olit.  chip, 
chip,  chip,  che,  char, — che-wiss,  che-wiss,  wiss,  wiss. 
The  pitch-pines  and  shrub-oaks  which  had  so  long 
156 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  157 

drooped,  suddenly  resumed  their  several  characters, 
looked  brighter,  greener,  and  more  erect  and  alive 
after  the  spring  rain.  And  so  the  season  went  roll- 
ing on  into  summer,  as  oie  rambles  into  higher  and 
higher  grass ;  till  anon  the  oaks,  hickories,  maples, 
and  other  trees,  putting  out  amid  the  pine-woods, 
imparted  a  brightness  like  sunshine  to  the  landscape. 

Henry  David  Thoreau. 


THREE  TREES. 


THE  pine-tree  grew  in  the  wood, 
Tapering,  straight,  and  high ; 
Stately  and  proud  it  stood, 

Black-green  against  the  sky. 
Crowded  so  close,  it  sought  the  blue, 
And  ever  upward  it  reached  and  grew. 

The  oak-tree  stood  in  the  field, 

Beneath  it  dozed  the  herds  ; 
It  gave  to  the  mower  a  shield, 

It  gave  a  home  to  the  birds. 
Sturdy  and  broad,  it  guarded  the  farms, 
With  its  brawny  trunk  and  knotted  arms. 

The  apple-tree  grew  by  the  wall, 
Ugly  and  crooked  and  black; 

But  it  knew  the  gardener's  call, 
And  the  children  rode  on  its  back. 

It  scattered  its  blossoms  upon  the  air, 

It  covered  the  ground  with  fruitage  fair. 


158  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

*  Now,  hey,"  said  the  pine,  "  for  the  wood! 

Ccme,  live  with  the  forest-hand, 
Our  comrades  will  do  you  good, 

And  tall  and  straight  you  will  stand." 
And  he  swung  his  boughs  to  a  witching  sound, 
And  flung  his  cones  like  coins  around. 

a  Oho  I"  laughed  the  sturdy  oak, 
"  The  life  of  the  field  for  me, 
I  weather  the  lightning  stroke ; 

My  branches  are  broad  and  free. 
Grow  straight  and  slim  in  the  wood,  if  you  wilj 
Give  me  the  sun  and  a  wind-swept  hill." 

And  the  apple-tree  murmured  low ; 

"  I  am  neither  straight  nor  strong 
Crooked  my  back  does  grow 

With  bearing  my  burdens  long." 
And  it  dropped  its  fruit  as  it  dropped  a  tear, 
And  reddened  the  ground  with  fragrant  cheer. 

And  the  Lord  of  the  Harvest  heard 

And  He  said :  "  I  use  them  all ; 
For  the  bough  that  shelters  a  bird, 

For  the  beam  that  pillars  a  hall ; 
And  grow  they  tall,  or  grow  they  ill, 
They  grow  but  to  wait  their  Master's  wilL" 

For  a  ship  of  oak  was  sent 

Far  over  the  ocean  blue, 
And  the  pine  was  the  mast  that  bent 

As  over  the  waters  they  flew, 
And  the  ruddy  fruit  of  the  apple-tree 
Was  borne  to  a  starving  isle  of  the  sea. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  15fl 

Now  the  farmer  grows  like  the  oak, 
And  the  townsman  is  proud  and  tall, 

And  the  city  and  field  are  full  of  folk 
But  the  Lord  has  need  of  them  all. 

And  who  will  be  like  the  apple-tree 

That  fed  the  starving  over  the  sea  ? 

Charles  H.  Crandall 


SPRING. 


JUST  a  tiny  blue-eyed  maid, 
Newly  out  of  Eden  strayed ; 
Lips,  a  bud  rose-tinted,  rare, 
And  the  sunlight  in  her  hair — 
Here  is  Spring ! 

Leaves  are  few  to  make  her  bowers, 
Bunches  bright  of  leafless  flowers 
Are  by  baby  fingers  placed 
Side  by  side  in  happy  haste — 

Little  Spring  ! 

Gardens  dark  with  winter  gloom, 
All  at  once  begin  to  bloom; 
Budding  branches,  lifted  high, 
Laugh  and  whisper  in  the  sky, 
"  Welcome  Spring!" 

She  will  reach  their  stately  height 
What  to  her  arc  blossoms  bright 
Little  Spring,  in  haste  to  pasa, 


160  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Lets  them  fall  among  the  grass— 

Eager  Spring  I 

Tiptoe  stands,  with  parted  lips,. 
Cannot  reach  their  swaying  tips. 
Brushes  past  in  April  grief — 
See !  The  underwood  in  leaf  I 
Fairy  Spring! 

She  is  growing  tall  and  slim, 
And  her  eyes  are  darkly  dim, 
Deepening  with  the  deepening  sky, 
Darkening  with  the  bluebell's  dy 
Is  it  Spring  ? 

They  were  wide  and  undismayed, 
Timid  now,  and  veiled  in  shade ; 
Comes  a  sound  of  hurrying  feet, 
She  is  flushed  with  roses  sweet- 
Happy  Spring ! 

Margaret  Velei 


PLANTING  THE  OAK. 

Permission  of  the  Youth's  Companion. 


IN  mellowing  skies  the  mated  robins  sing, 
The  west  winds  blow  the  flag  of  clustered  starSj 
A.nu  showers  of  roses  waft  the  skies  of  spring 

O'er  bloodless  fields  and  monuments  of  wars. 
The  waters  purling  flow  the  green  woods  through, 
The  hermit  moons  ascend  the  glimmering  sea. 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  161 

Peaceful,  as  when  war's  silver  trumpets  blew 
A  Truce  of  God  or  pastoral  jubilee. 

Here,  as  we  gather  on  this  festal  day, 

To  plant  the  acorn,  heir  of  centuries  old, 
The  oak  of  warrior  kings  and  courtiers  gay, 

Of  airy  Dryads  and  the  age  of  gold, 
What  war  scenes  rise — what  navies  dark  and  grand, 

With  peaking  oars  and  serried  shields  and  bows, 
What  Roman  roads  with  bannered  eagles  spanned, 

And  cooled  with  shades  of  pendant  mistletoes ! 

0  acorn,  acorn !  Fancy  sees  again 
Manorial  halls  and  forests  cool  and  broad, 

Where  villeins  cluster  'mid  the  rosy  rain 

Of  darkening  sunsets  'round  the  feudal  lord; 

Sees  the  rude  arkwrights  with  their  trenchers  whit*, 
Old  Norman  barons,  knights  of  gay  Gascogne, 

And  palgraves  tall  with  battle  axes  bright, 
And  marching  palmers — gone,  forever  gone! 

1  hear  grand  Nelson's  cry — "  Strike,  hearts  of  oak  P 
And  see  the  smitten  Dane-ships  strew  the  shor«, 

And,  from  the  Baltic  roll  the  battle  smoke 
O'er  deep  sea  graves  of  mourning  Elsinore; 

Before  the  oaks  I  see  Gibraltar  fall, 

And  Trafalgar,  and  from  the  Tagus  sweep 

The  Genoese  on  oak-ribbed  caravel 

To  pluck  the  golden  empires  of  the  deep. 

O  oaks  of  eld,  where  wandered  kirtled  maida, 
When  swung  the  orioles  in  the  sunlit  rain, 
11 


162  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

I  see  ye  gathered  for  the  palisades, 
From  which  gonfalon  never  yet  was  ta'en; 

I  see  your  trunks,  once  spun  with  gossamers, 
Where  fanchons  sung,  in  rows  defiant  rise, 

And  cavaliers,  with  golden  stars  of  spurs, 
Their  shelter  seek,  with  battle-weary  eyes  I 

Mother  of  cradles,  where  the  infant  dreams ! 

Father  of  ships,  that  thunder  on  the  sea ! 
The  soldier's  lance,  above  whose  steel  tongue  gieamt 

Or  Cross,  or  Crescent,  or  the  Fleur-de-lis ! 
Couch  of  the  victor,  who  no  more  shall  wake ! 

The  dead  king's  throne,  when,  'mid  the  hush  of 
prayers. 
The  dark  lords  pass,  their  last  quick  look  to  take, 

The  mullioned  windows  toward  the  altar  stairs. 

We  plant  the  acorn — open  here  the  mold, 

Trie  violets  break  while  thrushes  flute  and  sing, 
Earth's  new-made  vesture  let  the  spade  unfold — 

We  plant  the  acorn  in  the  breath  of  spring, 
The  sun  will  find  it,  and  the  April  rain, 

The  jocund  June,  and  summer's  wandering  wind 
Life's  resurrected  powers  renew  again 

The  embryo  oak,  and  nature's  chain  unbind. 

Like  her,  the  maid  of  far  Mauritius'  palms, 

Virginia,  in  Provence  tale  of  love, 
Whose  simple  history  still  the  worn  world  charms, 

Who  'mid  the  citron  shades  was  wont  to  rove, 
And  tamarinds  cool,  and  fans  of  cocoanuts  gay, 

And  planted  there  a  seed  in  gratitude 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  163 

For  every  fruit  she  tasted — so,  to-day, 
We  plant  the  acorn,  grateful  for  the  wood. 

Rise,  acorn,  rise,  the  south  wind's  breath  shall  blew 

Among  thy  lobed  and  sinuated  leaves, 
As  in  the  Vosges  where  the  child-oaks  grow, 

Or  Javan  valleys  where  the  sea  wind  breathes, 
The  showers  thy  buds,  regenerate,  shall  baptize, 

And  earth  shall  feed  thee  like  a  mother  strong, 
Heir  of  the  sun,  the  cloud,  the  eternal  skies, 

And  earth's  new  ages,  eloquent  and  long. 

The  heir  of  peace — the  dove  descends  and  falls 

From  Christ's  own  hand  upon  young  Freedom's 
brow ; 
We  weave  the  garlands  of  new  festivals, 

Like  poets  old,  to  lay  upon  the  plough. 
No  more  for  dragon-ship,  or  palisade 

The  young  tree  rises  by  the  crumbling  wood, 
But  children  plant  the  royal  oaks  to  shade 

The  councils  sweet  of  human  brotherhood ! 

Hezekiah  Butterwo^th. 


WEST  WIND. 

Translated  by  Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 


COME  forth,  all  ye  blossoms! 
Start,  seeds,  from  the  land  J 
Ye  sonars  of  birds,  waken, 
I,  Spring,  am  at  hand. 


KM 


HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

My  touch  on  the  fir-boughs, 

My  kiss  in  the  air, 
Makes  odors  of  heaven 

Spread  sweet  everywhere. 

And  the  fragrance  and  splendor 

Of  meadow  and  grove 
I  give  for  a  bride-wreath 
In  free  gift  to  Love. 

Come  forth,  then,  blue  violets! 

Spring  calleth  on  you ; 
Wake,  leaflets  and  flow'rets, 

For  love's  coming  too. 

Carmen  Sylva, 


HEARD  YE  0' THE  TREE  0' LIBERTY? 

rjPO'  this  tree  there  grows  sic  fruit, 
U    ^  Its  virtues  a'  can  tell,  man ; 
It  raises  men  aboon  the  brute, 

It  makes  him  ken  himseP,  man. 
Gif  ance  the  peasant  taste  a  bit, 
He's  greater  than  a  lord,  man, 
And  wi'  the  beggar  shares  a  mite 
0'  a'  he  can  afford,  man. 

This  fruit  is  worth  a'  Afric's  wealth, 
To  comfort  us  'twas  sent,  man; 

To  gie  the  sweetest  blush  o'  health, 
And  mak'  us  a'  content,  man; 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  165 

It  clears  the  een,  it  cheers  the  heart, 
Maks  high  and  low  guid  friends,  man; 

And  he  wha  acts  the  traitor's  part, 
It  to  perdition  sends,  man. 

My  blessings  aye  attend  the  chiel, 

Wha  pitied  Gallia's  slaves,  man, 
And  slaw  a  branch,  spite  o'  the  deil, 

Fra  yont  the  western  waves,  man. 
Fair  Virtue  watered  it  wi'  care, 

And  now  she  sees  wi'  pride,  man, 
How  weel  it  buds  and  blossoms  there, 

Its  branches  spreading  wide,  man. 

But  vicious  folk  aye  hate  to  see 

The  works  o'  virtue  thrive,  man. 
The  courtly  vermin's  banned  the  tree, 

And  grat  to  see  it  thrive,  man. 
King  Loui  thought  to  cut  it  down, 

When  it  was  unco'  sma',  man ; 
For  this  the  watchman  cracked  his  crown, 

Cut  aff  his  head  and  a',  man. 

A  wicked  crew  syne,  on  a  time, 

Did  take  a  solemn  aith,  man, 
It  ne'er  should  nourish  to  its  prime, 

I  wat  they  pledged  their  faith,  man. 
Awa'  they  gazed  wi'  mock  parade, 

Like  beagles  hunting  game,  man, 
But  soon  grew  weary  o'  the  trade, 

And  wished  they'd  been  at  hame,  man. 


166  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

For  Freedom,  standing  by  the  tree, 

Her  sons  did  loudly  ca',  man ; 
She  sang  a  sang  o'  liberty, 

Which  pleased  them  ane  and  a',  man. 
By  her  inspired,  the  new-born  race 

Soon  drew  the  avenging  steel,  man ; 
The  hirelings  ran — her  foes  gied  chase, 

And  banged  the  despot  weel,  man, 

Wi'  plenty  o'  sic  trees,  I  trow, 

The  warld  would  live  in  peace,  man ; 
The  sword  would  help  to  mak  a  plough, 

The  din  o'  war  wad  cease,  man. 
Like  brethren  in  a  common  cause, 

We'd  on  each  other  smile,  man; 
And  equal  rights  and  equal  laws 

Wad  gladden  each  and  all,  man. 

Wae  worth  the  loon  wha  wadna  eat 

Sic  halesome  dainty  cheer,  man ; 
I'd  gie  my  shoon  frae  off  my  feet, 

To  taste  sic  fruit,  I  swear,  man. 
Syne  let  us  pray  ev'ry  land  may 

Sure  plant  this  far-famed  tree,  man ; 
And  blithe  we'll  sing,  and  hail  the  day 

That  shone  on  Liberty's  tree,  man. 

Robert  Burns. 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  167 

THE  LAUREL-SEED. 


A  DESPOT  gazed  on  sun-set  clouds, 
Then  sank  to  sleep  amidst  the  gleam  J— 
Forthwith,  a  myriad  starving  slaves 
Must  realize  his  lofty  dream. 

Year  upon  year,  all  night  and  day, 

They  toiled,  they  died, — and  were  replaced ; 

At  length,  a  marble  fabric  rose 

With  cloud-like  domes  and  turrets  graced. 

No  anguish  of  those  herds  of  slaves 
E'er  shook  one  dome  or  wall  asunder, 

Nor  wars  of  other  mighty  kings, 

Nor  lustrous  javelins  of  the  thunder. 

One  sunny  morn,  a  lonely  bird, 

Pass'd  o'er,  and  dropt  a  laurel-seed ; 

The  plant  sprang  up  amidst  the  walls 

Whose  chinks  were  full  of  moss  and  weed. 

The  laurel-tree  grew  large  and  strong, 
Its  roots  went  searching  deeply  down ; 

It  split  the  marble  walls  of  Wrong, 

And  blossom'd  o'er  the  Despot's  crown. 

And  in  its  boughs  a  nightingale 

Sings  to  those  wo  rid -forgotten  graves; 

And  o'*;r  its  head  a  skylark's  voice 
insoles  the  spirits  of  the  slaves. 

K.  H.  Horne, 


168  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

THE  CHESTNUT-TREE. 


WITHIN  the  green  heart  of  a  wood 
A  stately  chestnut-tree  once  stood ; 
Its  great  trunk,  straight  and  high, 
And  mighty  branches,  stretching  wide, 
Around,  about,  on  every  side, 
Seemed  reaching  to  the  sky. 

When  spring-time  came,  and  soft  winds  blew, 
Its  leafy  blossoms  then  burst  through 

Their  wintry  prison-cells ; 
And  through  the  long,  sweet  summer  days 
Were  heard  from  it  the  wild,  sweet  lays 

That  from  a  bird's  throat  swells. 

And  summer  passed,  and  autumn  came^ 
And  all  the  forest  seemed  aflame 

With  dyes  of  red  and  gold. 
When  trees  their  brightest  raiment  wort, 
The  stately  chestnut-tree  then  bore 

A  wealth  of  nuts  untold. 

But  through  the  changes  of  the  year, 
From  budding  spring  to  winter  drear, 

None  saw  the  chestnut- tree-, 
Unknown,  unnoted,  day  by  day, 
Though  seasons  came  and  passed  away, 

It  lived  contentedly. 

And  though  no  happy  children  played 
Beneath  its  branches'  grateful  shade, 
Or  came  with  laughter  gay, 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  169 

When  lingering  summer  cast  its  fair, 
Sweet,  hazy  spell  on  autumn's  air, 
To  carry  nuts  away. 

Yet  still  the  tree  grew  fair  and  strong; 
Its  every  rustling  was  a  song 

Of  praise  to  God  on  high. 
What  though  its  nuts  unheeded  fell  ? 
They  served  the  small  gray  squirrel  well, 

Who  made  his  home  near  by. 

And  thus  the  tree  its  course  lived  through 

Although  no  good  it  seemed  to  do, 

Such  useless  life  it  led. 

But  who  can  say  that  mighty  tree 

Fulfilled  not  its  true  destiny 

When  it  a  squirrel  fed  ? 

Jane  Campbeul 


A  GARDEN  SCENE. 


WHAT  wondrous  life  is  this  I  lead? 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head ; 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crust  their  wine. 
The  nectarine,  and  curious  peach, 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  reach. 
Stumbling  on  melons,  as  I  pass, 
Ensnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grass. 
Meanwhile  the  mind  from  pleasures  leas 
Withdraws  into  its  happiness. 


170  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

The  mind,  that  ocean,  where  each  kind 

Does  straight  its  own  resemblance  findj 

Yet  it  creates,  transcending  these, 

Far  other  worlds,  and  other  seas, 

Annihilating  all  that's  made 

To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shada 

Here  at  the  fountain's  shaded  foot, 

Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root, 

Casting  the  body's  vest  aside, 

My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide; 

There,  like  a  bird,  it  sits  and  sings, 

Then  wets  and  claps  its  silver  wings, 

And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight, 

Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light 

How  well  the  skillful  gardener  drew, 

Of  flowers  and  herbs,  this  dial  new, 

Where,  from  above,  the  milder  sun 

Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run ; 

And,  as  it  works,  the  industrious  bee 

Computes  its  time  as  well  as  we. 

How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 

Be  reckoned,  but  with  herbs  and  flowers  ? 

Marvell, 

LIBERTY  TREE. 

Published  in  1775. 


IN  a  chariot  of  light  from  the  regions  of  day 
The  Goddess  of  Liberty  came ; 
Ten  thousand  celestials  directed  the  way, 
And  hither  conducted  the  dama 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  IT\ 

A-  fair,  budding  branch  from  the  gardens  above, 

Where  millions  with  millions  agree, 
She  brought  in  her  hand,  as  a  pledge  of  her  love, 

And  the  plant  she  named  Liberty  Tree. 

The  celestial  exotic  struck  deep  in  the  ground, 

Like  a  native  it  flourished  and  bore ; 
The  fame  of  its  fruit  drew  the  nations  around, 

To  seek  out  this  peaceable  shore. 
Unmindful  of  names  or  distinctions  they  came, 

For  freemen  like  brothers  agree ; 
With  one  spirit  endued,  they  one  friendship  pursued^ 

And  their  temple  was  Liberty  Tree. 

Beneath  this  fair  tree,  like  the  patriarchs  of  old, 

Their  bread  in  contentment  they  ate ; 
Unvexed  with  the  troubles  of  silver  and  gold, 

The  cares  of  the  grand  and  the  great. 
With  timber  and  tar  they  old  England  supplied, 

And  supported  her  power  on  the  sea ; 
Her  battles  they  fought,  without  getting  a  groat, 

For  the  honor  of  Liberty  Tree. 

But  hear,  0  ye  swains,  'tis  a  tale  most  profane, 

How  all  the  tyrannical  powers, 
Kings,  commons,  and  lords,  all  uniting  amain, 

Strove  to  cut  down  this  guardian  of  ours ; 
From  the  east  to  the  west  sounded  the  trumpet,  "  To 
arms  !" 

Through  the  broad  land  they  bade  the  sound  flea, 
Bade  tbe  far  and  the  near  all  unite  with  a  cheer, 

In  defense  of  our  Liberty  Tree. 


172  HOLIDAY    SEi^OTIONS 

WILD  FLOWERS. 


SCATTERED  over  glade  and  dingle, 
Freshly  bathed  in  balmy  showers, 
Where  the  lights  and  shadows  mingle, 
Children  find  a  wealth  of  flowers. 

Roots,  that  careful  hands  have  planted, 
May  not  feel  the  sun  and  air ; 

Though  ye  watch,  by  hope  enchanted, 
Still  your  garden  soil  is  bare. 

Yet  the  ivy  fetters  lightly 
Rugged  tree  and  ruined  wall ; 

And  upon  the  wayside  brightly 
Snows  of  scented  hawthorn  fall. 

Kingcups  in  their  golden  glory, 
Daisies  on  the  churchyard  sod, 

Tell  the  world's  unwritten  story; 
Silent  witnesses  of  God. 

In  our  life's  deserted  places 

Flowers,  by  human  hands  unsown, 
Blossom  with  a  thousand  grace3 

Making  every  spot  their  own. 

Unexpected  joys  are  springing 
In  the  paths  we  feared  to  tread ; 

Love,  with  tender  fibres  clinging, 
Clasps  the  hope  we  counted  dead. 


FOR    READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  173 

Gifts,  for  which  we  have  not  striven, 

On  our  darkest  hours  descend ; 
Blessings  by  a  Father  given, 

Strew  the  pathway  to  the  end. 

Sarah  Doudnet. 


THE  TREE. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 


I  LOVE  thee  when  thy  swelling  buds  appear 
And  one  by  one  their  tender  leaves  unfold, 
As  if  they  knew  that  warmer  suns  were  near, 

Nor  longer  sought  to  hide  from  winter's  cold : 
And  when  with  darker  growth  thy  leaves  are  seen, 

To  veil  from  view  the  early  robin's  nest, 
I  love  to  lie  beneath  thy  waving  screen 

With  limbs  by  summer's  heat  and  toil  oppressed ; 
And  when  the  autumn  winds  have  stripped  thee  bare, 
And  round  thee  lies  the  smooth,  untrodden  snow, 
When  naught  is  thine  that  made  thee  once  so  fair, 

I  love  to  watch  thy  shadowy  form  below, 
And  through  thy  leafless  arms  to  look  above 
On   stars   that  brighter  beam,  when  most  we  need 
their  love. 

Jones  Very 


DBCORATION    DAY 


THE  SOLDIER'S  TENT. 

Translated  by  Carmen  Sylva. 


ACROSS  the  mountains  the  mist  hath  drawn 
A  cov'ring  of  bridal  white ; 
The  plains  afar  make  lament,  and  mourn 
That  the  nutt'ring  veil  of  the  mistrwreaths  born 
Hath  hidden  the  mountains  from  sight. 

The  soldier  lay  smiling  peacefully 

Asleep  in  his  tent  on  the  sward, 
The  moon  crept  in  and  said :  "  Look  at  me, 
A  glance  from  thy  sweetheart  am  I,  for  thee  V' 

But  he  answered :  "  I  have  my  sword." 

Then  the  rustling  wind  drew  softly  near, 

Played  round  him  with  whispers  light: 
*  I  am  the  sighs  of  thy  mother  dear, 
The  sighs  of  thy  mother  am  I,  dost  hear?" 
But  he  answered :  "  I  have  the  fight." 

Then  night  sank  down  from  the  dark'ning  sky 
Round  the  sleeper,  and  murmured :  "  Rest, 
Thy  sweetheart's  veil  o'er  thy  face  doth  lie  I" 
But  he  answered :  "  No  need  of  it  have  I, 
For  the  banner  doth  cover  me  best." 
174 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  1?5 

By  his  tent  the  river,  clear  and  wide, 

Rolled  onward  its  silver  flood, 
And  said  :  "  I  am  water,  the  cleansing  tide, 
More  blessed  than  aught  in  the  world  beside." 

But  he  answered :  "  I  have  my  blood." 

Then  Sleep  drew  near  to  his  tent,  and  low 
She  whispered  with  soothing  breath : 

*  I  am  Sleep,  the  healer  of  ev'ry  woe, 
The  dearest  treasure  of  man  below." 
But  the  soldier  replied :  "  I  have  Death." 

Across  the  mountains  the  mist  hath  drawn 

A  cov'ring  of  bridal  white  ; 
The  plains  afar  make  lament,  and  mourn 
That  the  fluttering  veil  of  the  mist-wreaths  born, 

Hath  hidden  the  mountains  from  sight. 

HELENE  VaCARESCQ. 


DECORATION  DAY. 


YES,  scatter  flowers  above  the  graves 
Where  the  Nation's  dead  are  sleeping, 
To  tell  that  the  comrades  left  behind 
Their  memories  green  are  keeping. 

Tis  many  a  year  since  they  marched  forth, 

All  the  battle's  perils  braving, 
And  many  a  year  above  their  graves 

Has  the  long  green  grass  been  waving. 


IT?  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Yes,  scatter  the  flowers,  'tis  a  kindly  thought, 

Pale  lilies  and  fair  red  roses, 
With  lavish  hands  o'er  the  grave  where  each 

Brave  soldier  in  peace  reposes. 
Long  years  have  passed  since  they  sank  to  rest, 

'Mid  a  nation's  bitter  mourning, 
But  their  faithful  comrades,  year  by  year, 

Bring  flowers  for  their  graves'  adorning. 

But  far  away  upon  hill  and  plain, 

Nameless,  forgotten,  are  lying, 
The  bones  of  many  who  bravely  fought, 

In  their  country's  service  dying. 
But  though  their  graves  are  unknown,  unsought, 

Our  dear  Lord  covers  them  over 
With  the  sweetest  flowers  and  greenest  grass, 

And  blossoms  of  scented  clover. 

And  instead  of  the  muffled  beat  of  drums, 

Its  saddening  memories  bringing, 
The  only  sound  that  the  silence  breaks 

Is  the  note  of  some  wild  bird  singing, 
Or  a  rush  of  timid,  rapid  feet 

As  the  wild  gray  rabbit  passes, 
Or  the  drowsy  hum  of  the  honey-bee 

As  it  flits  among  the  grasses. 

But  peacefully  still  at  rest  they  lie 

And  little  it  matters  whether, 
Alone  they  sleep  in  their  nameless  graves^ 

Or  in  churchyards  close  together. 


FOR   EEADINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  177 

For  a  grateful  country  in  its  heart 

Ig  fresh  their  memories  keeping. 
go  scatter  flowers  with  a  generous  hand 

Where  the  Nation's  dead  are  sleeping. 

Jane  Campbell. 


THE  DEAD  TRUMPETER. 


WAKE,  soldier!  wake !  thy  war-horse  waits, 
To  bear  thee  to  the  battle  back ; 
Thou  slumberest  at  the  foeman's  gates ; 

The  dog  would  break  thy  bivouac ; 
Thy  plume  is  trailing  in  the  dust, 
And  thy  red  falchion  gathering  rust ! 

Sleep,  soldier !  sleep !  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Not  thine  own  bugle's  loudest  strain 

Shall  ever  break  thy  slumbers  more, 
With  summons  to  the  battle  plain ; 

A  trumpet-note  more  loud  and  deep 

Must  rouse  thee  from  that  leaden  sleep  I 

Thou  need'st  not  helm  nor  cuirass  now, 
Beyond  the  Grecian  hero's  boast, — 

Thou  wilt  not  quail  thy  naked  brow, 
Nor  shrink  before  a  myriad  host, — 

For  head  and  heel  alike  are  sound, 

A  thousand  arrows  cannot  wound. 

Thy  mother  is  not  in  thy  dreams, 

With  that  wild  widowed  look  she  wore 
12 


i78  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

The  day-  -how  long  to  her  it  seems !— « 
She  kissed  thee  at  the  cottage  door, 
And  sickened  at  the  sounds  of  joy 
That  bore  away  her  only  boy ! 

Sleep,  soldier ! — let  thy  mother  wait 
To  hear  thy  bugle  on  the  blast ; 

Thy  dog,  perhaps,  may  find  the  gate, 
And  bid  her  home  to  thee  at  last ; 

He  cannot  tell  a  sadder  tale 

Than  did  thy  clarion  on  the  gale, 
When  last — and  far  away — she  heard 

Its  lingering  echoes  fail. 

T.  K.  Hervey. 


THE  DEAD  VOLUNTEER. 

SILENTLY,  tenderly,  mournfully  home, 
From  the  red  battlefield  volunteers  come- 
Not  with  a  loud  hurrah, 
Not  with  a  wild  eclat, 
Not  with  the  tramp  of  war, 
Come  our  brave  sons  from  far. 
Gently  and  noiselessly  bear  him  along  ; 
Hushed  be  the  battle-cry,  music,  and  song. 

Silently,  tenderly,  mournfully  home, 
Not  as  they  marched  away,  volunteers  come- 
Not  with  the  sword  and  gun, 
Not  with  the  stirring  drum, 
Come  our  dead  heroes  home. 
Now  all  his  work  is  done, 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  V?9 

Thoughtfully,  prayerfully  bear  ye  the  dead. 
Pillow  it  softly — the  volunteer's  head. 

Silently,  tenderly,  mournfully  home, 
Where  should  the  brave  volunteer  come, 

But  to  his  native  hills, 

Where  the  bright  gushing  rills, 

Freedom's  sweet  music  fills, 

And  her  soft  dew  distills  ? 
Peacefully,  prayerfully  lay  our  brave  friend 
Close  to  the  home  he  fought  to  defend. 

Silently,  tearfully  welcome  the  brave. — 
Glory  encircles  the  patriot's  grave. 

Here  let  affection  swell, 

Here  let  the  marble  tell 

How  the  brave  hero  fell, 

Loving  his  country  well. 
Silently,  tenderly,  mournfully  home, 
Welcome  the  brave  volunteers  as  they  come. 

J.  W.  Barker. 


THE  FALLEN. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 

TOLL  the  slow  bell, 
Toll  the  low  bell, 
Toll,  toll, 
Make  dole 
For  them  that  wrought  so  well: 
To  them  that  fought  and  fell, 


ISO  HOLIDAY    SELECTIOMB 

Once  more,  farewelL  farewell, 
Once  more,  farewell. 

Come,  come, 

Bid  the  dull  drum 

Hush  gladness  dumb, 

Let  dolorous  horn,  and  drum,  and  bell 

The  steady  voice  of  sorrow  swell. 

Solemn  measures  slow 

Toll,  and  beat,  and  blow ; 

Rebuke  it,  darken,  blight 

This  bright,  unpitying  light; 

Put  out  all  glories  that  adorn 

This  sweet,  unheeding  morn. 

Toll— toll— 

Toll— toll— 
For  them,  our  beauty  and  our  mighty 
Gone  on  the  unreturning  way, 
For  them  that  took  the  night 
That  we  might  have  the  day. 

Blow  the  sad  horn 

This  glad  May  morn ; 

Knell,  knell, 

Let  the  slow  bell 

Be  struck,  and  the  troubled  drum. 

Come,  come, 

Blow  the  sad  horns, 

Bring  flowers  for  them  that  took  the  thoma. 

The  sacred  scroll — let  it  once  more  be  read ; 
Victors  and  vanquished,  all  the  falTen  together, 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  181 

Remember  all ;  here  in  the  warm,  May  weather, 
Number  once  more  the  well-beloved  dead- 
Love  forgets  no  brother 
Born  of  our  common  mother; 
Here  in  the  warm  May  weather, 
Bow  we  in  grief  together; 
To  them  that  fought  so  well, 
To  all  that  fought  and  fell, 
Once  more,  farewell,  farewell, 
Once  more,  farewell. 

Death,  Death ! 

At  whose  breath, 

By  whose  will,  is  he? 

Oh  !    if  Death  could  be, 

These  would  he  find  foremost  among  his  foes, 

These  who,  though  now  they  tent 

Beyond  the  firmament, 

Deliver  still  their  undiminished  blows ; 

Who,  marching  bright  and  far 

As  flames  the  farthest  star, 

Along  the  fadeless  fields  of  light, 

The  ringing  field  of  life  and  right, 

Forever  gather  to  the  fight. 

No  more  let  Grief  with  his  pale  face 
Offend  tbe  splendor  and  the  grace, 
The  promise,  of  this  place. 
Bid  hither  cringing  Doubt, 
And  drive  his  devil  out: 
The  Lord  our  God,  once  more  He  saith,— 
u  This  hand  made  all ;  it  made  not  Death." 


182  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Sepulchred  not,  but  sown 

In  virtuous  mold,  the  hardy  seed 

For  harvest  of  th'  enduring  deed, 

Here  live  and  thrive  God's  own. 

Here  did  our  soldiers,  one  by  one,— 

The  last  grand  duty  grandly  done,— 

These  acres  of  green  martyr  sward 

Add  to  the  garden  of  our  Lord. 

Live  words,  swift  words,  and  joyous,  break 

From  these  still  mounds : — 

4  Wake,  Freedom,  wake  I" 
Blow  the  glad  horn 
This  bright  May  morn, 
This  white  May  morn  ; 
Strike  up  the  martial  stave; 
Say,  where  those  colors  wave 
Believed  and  battled  they 
Whose  face  was  toward  the  day; 
Say,  there  no  cowl  nor  crown 
Strike  Freedom  down ; 
Say  on  till  Hell  itself  shall  hear, 
Men  are  that  falter  not  nor  fear ; 
Say,  for  the  brave 

*  There  is  no  grave." 

Ay,  come,  come, 

Strike  the  quick  drum, 

Smite  sorrow  dumb. 

Staunch,  undaunted  measures  blow, 

Gath'ring  courage  as  they  go  : 

Again  and  yet  again  say  for  this  land, 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  181 

Her  soldier's  sword  is  firm  in  his  good  hand, 

Say,  these  fix  yet 

The  bayonet, 

And  stiff  the  thrust 

Up  through  the  dust, — 

Far  as  yon  sovran  colors  wave, 

Blow,  blow  their  challenge  to  the  grave. 

John  Vance  Cheney 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SONG. 


BENEATH  the  hot  midsummer  sun, 
The  men  had  marched  all  day ; 
And  now  beside  a  rippling  stream, 

Upon  the  grass  they  lay. 
Tiring  of  games  and  idle  jest 
As  swept  the  hours  along, 
They  cried  to  one  who  mused  apart: 
u  Come,  friend,  give  us  a  song." 

"  I  fear  I  cannot  please,"  he  said ; 
u  The  only  songs  I  know 
Are  those  my  mother  used  to  sing 
For  me  long  years  ago.'' 
u  Sin«;  one  of  those,"  a  rough  voice  cried, 
"  There's  none  hut  true  men  here; 
To  every  mother's  son  of  U3 
A  mother's  songs  are  dear." 


184  HOLIDAY    SELECTIOHB 

Then  sweetly  rose  the  singer's  voice 
Amid  unwonted  calm  ; 

*  'Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  cross$ 

A  follower  of  the  Lamb  ? 
And  shall  I  fear  to  own  His  cause  F  ■ 

The  very  stream  was  stilled, 
And  hearts  that  never  throbbed  with  fear 

With  tender  thoughts  were  filled 

Ended  the  song ;  the  singer  said, 
As  to  his  feet  he  rose, 
u  Thanks  to  you  all,  my  friends,  good-night» 

God  grant  us  sweet  respose." 
"  Sing  us  one  more,"  the  captain  begged, 
The  soldier  bent  his  head, 
Then  glancing  round  with  smiling  lips, 
u  You'll  join  with  me?"  he  said. 

*  Well  sing  the  old  familiar  air, 

Sweet  as  the  bugle-call, 
'  All  hail  the  power  of  Jesus'  name, 

Let  angels  prostrate  fall.'  " 
Ah  !  wondrous  was  the  old  tune's  spell, 

As  on  the  soldier  sang, 
Each  eye  was  moist  with  mem'ry's  tear, 

And  loud  the  voices  rang. 

The  songs  are  done,  the  camp  is  stilly 
Naught  but  the  stream  is  heard ; 

But  ah !  the  depths  of  every  soul 
By  those  old  hymns  are  stirred. 


FOR   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  185 

And  up  from  many  a  bearded  lip 

In  whispers  soft  and  low. 
Rises  the  prayer  mother  taught 

Her  boy  long  years  ago. 


THE  VOLUNTEER 


"AT  dawn,"  he  said,  "  I  bid  them  all  farewell, 

-tl     To  go  where  bugles  call  and  rifles  gleam." 
And  with  the  restless  thought  asleep  he  fell, 
And  glided  into  dream. 

A  great  hot  plain  from  sea  to  mountain  spread, 
Through  it  a  level  river  slowly  drawn  ; 

He  moved  with  a  vast  crowd,  and  at  its  head 
Streamed  banners  like  the  dawn. 

There  came  a  blinding  flash,  a  deafening  roar, 
And  dissonant  cries  of  triumph  and  dismay; 

Blood  trickled  down  the  river's  reedy  shore, 
And  with  the  dead  lie  lay. 

The  morn  broke  in  upon  his  solemn  dream, 
And  still,  with  steady  pulse  and  deepening  eye, 

"  Where  bugles  call,"  he  said,  "  and  ritlus  gleam, 
I  follow,  though  I  die." 

Elbkidge  Jefferson  Cutuc* 


186  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

THE  DEAD  COMRADE. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 
kt  the  burial  of  Grant,  a  bugler  stood  forth  and  sounded  "  Taps.' 


COME,  soldiers,  arouse  ye  I 
Another  has  gone ; 
Let  us  bury  our  comrade, 

His  battles  are  done. 
His  sun  it  is  set ; 

He  was  true,  he  was  brave, 
He  feared  not  the  grave, 
There  is  naught  to  regret. 

Bring  music  and  banners 

And  wreaths  for  his  bier,— 
No  fault  of  the  fighter 

That  Death  conquered  here. 
Bring  him  home  ne'er  to  rove, 

Bear  him  home  to  his  rest, 

And  over  his  breast 
Fold  the  flag  of  his  love. 

Great  Captain  of  battles, 

We  leave  him  with  Thee ! 
What  was  wrong,  0  forgive  it; 

His  spirit  make  free. 
Sound  taps,  and  away ! 

Out  lights,  and  to  bed ! 

Farewell,  soldier  dead ! 
Farewell —  for  a  day. 

Richard  Watson  Gilder. 


FOR   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  187 

MEMORIAL  DAY. 

THE  circling  year  again  brings  round 
This  proud  Memorial  Day, 
With  mingled  joy  and  grief  profound, 
We  deck  with  wreaths  the  sacred  mound, 
Where  patriot  soldiers  lay. 

Tis  meet  that  we  this  honor  show, 

And  pledge  this  day  anew, 
Our  fadeless  faith,  that  all  may  know 
How  strong  this  faith  will  ever  grow, 

In  loval  hearts  and  true. 

Our  land  so  broad,  so  grand,  so  free, 

Pays  homage  to  the  band, 
Who  fought  and  bled,  and  died  that  we 
An  undivided  nation  be, 

The  peer  of  any  land. 

Pile  granite  to  the  vaulted  skies; 

Carve  words  of  deathless  fame ; 
Let  marble  monuments  arise 
Where'er  the  soldier-patriot  lies, 

In  honor  of  his  name. 

The  granite  pile  may  sink  to  dust, 

No  more  its  words  be  read ; 
The  marble  may  forsake  its  trust; 
The  nation  may,  in  reckless  lust, 

Forget  the  honored  dead. 


188  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Their  fame  is  fixed  beyond  the  skies, 

Their  glory  is  of  God ; 
Twas  not  ambition's  sacrifice, 
Nor  eager  gain  for  worldly  prize, 

That  laid  them  'neath  the  sod. 

They  died  our  nation's  life  to  save, 

Ere  it  were  rent  in  twain, 
For  this  each  fills  a  soldier's  grave, 
For  this  the  glorious  flag  shall  wave, 

In  honor  of  the  slain. 

They  died :  the  clanking  shackles  fell 

From  bondman's  fettered  hand, 
And  angels  winged  their  way  to  tell, 
While  heavenly  choirs  the  anthem  swell, 
Oi'  ir^edom's  happy  land. 

Z.  F.  Kilc* 


FOURTH   OK  JULY 


FREE  AMERICA. 


THAT  seat  of  science,  Athens, 
And  earth's  proud  mistress,  Romej 
Where  now  are  all  their  glories  ? 

We  scarce  can  find  a  tomb. 
Then  guard  your  rights,  Americans, 

Nor  stoop  to  lawless  sway  ; 
Huzza !  then  shout  huzza  I  huzza 
For  free  America. 

We  led  fair  Freedom  hither, 

And  lo,  the  desert  smiled! 
A  paradise  of  pleasure 

Was  captured  in  the  wild ! 
Your  harvest,  bold  Americans, 

No  power  shall  snatch  away! 
Then  huzza!  huzza!  a  loud  huzza, 

For  free  America. 

Torn  from  a  land  of  tyrants, 

Bencatli  this  western  sky, 
We  formed  a  new  dominion, 

A  land  of  liberty  ; 
The  world  shall  own  we're  masters  hero; 

Then  hasten  on  the  day, 

189 


190  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

When  every  voice  shall  shout  huzaa 
For  free  America. 

Proud  Albion  bowed  to  Caesar, 

And  numerous  lords  before ; 
To  Picts,  to  Danes,  to  Normans, 

And  many  masters  more : 
But  we  can  boast,  Americans, 

We've  never  fallen  a  prey ; 
Then  loud  huzza  !  we'll  sing  huzza 

For  free  America ! 

We  pray  God  bless  our  happy  land, 

And  through  its  vast  domain 
May  hosts  of  heroes  cluster, 

Who  scorn  to  wear  a  chain ; 
And  cursed  be  the  fawning  s}rcophant 

That  dares  our  rights  betray. 
Huzza !  huzza !  boys ;  a  loud  huzza 

For  our  America. 

Lift  up  your  hands,  ye  heroes, 

And  swear  with  proud  disdain, 
The  traitor  that  would  betray  you 

Shall  lay  his  snares  in  vain. 
Should  foreign  foes  spend  all  their  forces 

We'll  greater  strength  display, 
Then  shout  huzza !  huzza  I  huzza 

For  our  America. 

And  the  future  shall  all  hail  ug 
The  masters  of  the  main, 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  191 

Our  fleets  shall  speak  in  thunder ; 

Hear  it,  England,  France,  and  Spain 
And  the  nations  over  the  ocean  spread 

Shall  tremble  and  obey 
The  sons,  the  sons,  the  sons,  the  sons 

Of  brave  America. 


OUR  OWN  DEAR  LAND. 


OUR  own  dear  land,  our  native  land, 
Home  of  the  brave  and  free ! 
In  vain  we  search  old  ocean's  strand 

To  find  a  land  like  thee. 
Thy  towering  hills,  thy  prairies  wide, 

Thy  forests  old  and  dim, 
Thy  streams  that  roll  in  matchless  pride* 
Thy  torrent's  thunder-hymn. 

Our  own  dear  land,  our  native  land, 

None  can  compare  with  thee ; 
The  fairest  work  of  nature's  hand- 

Our  own  dear  land  for  me ! 
Our  own  dear  land,  our  native  land, 

Fearless  thy  banner  waves, 
And  nations  yet  unborn  shall  stand 

Beside  thy  heroes'  graves. 

Our  fathers  spurned  oppression's  laws, 
All  fought  for  God  and  right; 

80  may  tln'ir  sons,  in  Freedom's  cause, 
Be  foremost  in  the  fight! 


192  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Our  own  dear  land,  our  native  land, 
Home  of  the  brave  and  free  ; 

The  finest  work  of  nature's  hand — 
Our  own  dear  land  for  me  ! 

J.  R.  Thomas. 


THE  NATIONAL  FLAG. 


rPHERE  is  the  national  flag.  He  must  be  cold,  in- 
J-  deed,  who  can  look  upon  its  folds  rippling  in 
the  breeze  without  pride  of  country.  If  he  be  in  a 
foreign  land,  the  flag  is  companionship  and  country 
itself  with  all  its  endearments.  Who,  as  he  sees  it, 
can  think  of  a  State  merely  ?  Whose  eyes,  once  fas- 
tened upon  its  radiant  trophies,  can  fail  to  recognize 
the  image  of  the  whole  nation?  It  has  been  called 
a  "  floating  piece  of  poetry,"  and  yet  I  know  not  ii 
it  have  an  intrinsic  beauty  beyond  other  ensigns. 
lis  highest  beauty  is  in  what  it  symbolizes.  It  is  be- 
cause of  what  it  represents  that  all  gaze  at  it  with 
delight  and  reverence.  It  is  a  piece  of  bunting  lifted 
in  the  air,  but  it  speaks  sublimely,  and  every  part 
has  a  voice.  Its  stripes  of  alternate  red  and  white 
proclaim  the  original  union  of  thirteen  States  to 
maintain  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  Its  stars 
)f  white  on  a  field  of  blue  proclaim  that  union  of 
States  constituting  our  national  constellation,  which 
receives  a  new  star  with  every  new  State.  The  two 
together  signify  union,  past  and  present.  The  very 
Dolors  have  a  language  which  was  officially  recog- 


FOR   READINGS    aND   RECITATIONS  198 

nized  by  our  fathers.     White  is  for  purity,  red  for 

valor,  blue  for  justice;    and   all  together,  bunting, 

stripes,  stars,  and  colors  blazing  in  the  sky,  make  the 

flag  of  our  country — to  be  cherished  by  all  our  hearts, 

to  be  upheld  by  all  our  hands. 

Charles  Sumner. 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY— 1798. 


SQUEAK  the  fife  and  beat  the  drum, 
Independence  Day  has  come  I 
Quickly  rub  the  pewter  platter, 
Heap  the  nut-cakes  fried  in  butter. 
Set  the  cups,  and  beaker-glass, 
The  pumpkin  and  the  apple-sauce ; 
Sambo  play  and  dance  with  quality; 
This  is  the  day  of  blest  equality. 
Father  and  mother  are  but  men, 
And  Sambo — is  a  citizen. 
Now  saw  as  fast  as  e'er  you  can  do, 
And  father,  you  cross  o'er  to  Sambo. 
Thus  we  dance,  and  thus  we  play. 
On  glorious  Independence  Day. 
Rub  your  rosin  on  your  bow, 
And  let  us  have  another  go. 
Zounds  !    As  sure  as  eggs  and  bacon, 
Here's  Ensign  Sneak  and  Uncle  Deacon, 
Aunt  Thiah,  and  Cousin  Bet  behind  her, 
On  blundering  mare,  than  beetle  blinder. 
And  there's  the  'Squire,  too,  with  his  lady, 
13 


194  HOLIDAY    SELECTION 

Dick,  hold  the  beast,  I'll  take  the  baby. 
Moll,  bring  the  'Squire  our  great  arm-chair; 
Good  folks,  we're  glad  to  see  you  here. 

**i*  *j>  «i*  «.?,»  *i|»  >ig 

*^  >^  *y*  ^j^  ^t*  *^ 

Thus  we  dance  and  dance  away, 
This  glorious  Independence  Day  ! 

RoYALL  TYLER. 


ADVICE  TO  MY  COUNTRY. 


AS  this  advice,  if  it  ever  see  the  light,  will  not  do 
so  till  I  am  no  more,  it  may  be  considered  aa 
issuing  from  the  tomb,  where  truth  alone  can  be  re- 
spected, and  the  happiness  of  man  alone  consulted. 
It  will  be  entitled,  therefore,  to  whatever  weight  can 
be  derived  from  good  intentions,  and  from  the  expe- 
rience of  one  who  has  served  his  country  in  various 
stations  through  a  period  of  forty  years ;  who  espoused 
in  his  youth,  and  adhered  through  his  life,  to  the 
cause  of  its  liberty;  and  who  has  borne  a  part  in 
most  of  the  great  transactions  which  will  constitute 
epochs  of  its  destiny. 

The  advice  nearest  to  my  heart  and  deepest  in  mj 
convictions  is :  That  the  Union  of  the  States  be  cher 
ished  and  perpetuated.     Let  the  open  enemy  to  it  h* 
regarded  as  a  Pandora  with  her  box  opened,  and  the 
disguised  one  as  the  serpent  creeping  with  his  deadly 

wiles  into  Paradise. 

James  Madison. 


*OR   READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS  195 

THE  FIGHT. 


TUGGED  the  patient,  panting  horses,  as  the  colter, 
keen  and  thorough, 
By  the  careful  farmer  guided,  cut  the  deep  and  even 

furrow ; 
Soon  the  mellow  mold  in  ridges,  straightly  pointed 

as  an  arrow, 
Lay  to  wait  the  bitter  vexing  of  the  fierce,  remorse 

less  harrow ; 
Lay  impatient  for  the  seeding,  for  the  growing  and 

the  reaping, 
Ml  the  richer  and  the  readier  for  the  quiet  winter 

sleeping. 

A.t  his  loom  the  pallid  weaver,  with  his  feet  upon  the 

treadles, 
Watched  the  threads  alternate  rising,  with  the  lifting 

of  the  heddles. 
Not  admiring  that,  so  swiftly,  at  his  eager  fingers 

urging, 
Flew  the  bobbin-loaded  shuttle  'twixt  the  filaments 

diverging, 
Only  labor,  dull  and  cheerless,  in  the  work  before 

him  seeing, 
As  the  warp  and  woof  uniting  brought  the  figures 

into  being. 

Roared  the  fire  before  the  bellows ;  glowed  the  forge's 
dazzling  crater; 


IWJ  HOLIDAY    BJSLdSUl'lUnt) 

Rang  the  hammer  on  the  anvil,  both  the  leaser  an  , 

the  greater ; 
Fell  the  sparks  around  the  smithy,  keeping  rhythm 

to  the  clamor, 
To  the  ponderous  blows  and  clanging  of  each  unre* 

lenting  hammer ; 
While  the  diamonds  of  labor,  from  the  curse  of  Adam 

borrowed. 
Glittered  in  a  crown  of  honor  on  each  iron-beater'" 

brow. 

Through  the  air  there  came  a  whisper,  deepening 

quickly  into  thunder, 
How  the  deed  was  done  that  morning  that  would 

rend  the  realm  asunder ; 
How  at  Lexington  the  Briton    mingled  causeless 

crime  with  folly, 
And  a  king  endangered  empire  by  an  ill-considered 

volley. 
Then  each  heart  beat  quick  for  vengeance,  as  the 

anger-stirring  story 
Told  of  brethren  and  of  neighbors  lying  corses  stiff 

and  gory. 

Stops  the  plough  and  sleeps  the  shuttle,  stills  the 

blacksmith's  noisy  hammer, 
Come  the  farmer,  smith,  and  weaver,  with  a  wrath 

too  deep  for  clamor ; 
But  their  fiercely  purposed  doing  every  glance  they 

give  avouches, 
4s  they  handle  rusty  fire-locks,  powder-horns,  and 

bullet  pouches, 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATION?  137 

Afl  they  hurry  from  the  workshops,  from  the  fields 

and  from  the  forges, 
Venting  curses  deep  and  bitter  on  the  latest  of  the 

Georges. 


I  was  but  a  beardless  stripling  on  that  chilly  April 

morning, 
When   the   church-bells,   backward  ringing,  to  the 

minute-men  gave  warning ; 
But  I  seized  my  father's  weapons — he  was  dead  who 

one  time  bore  them — 
A.nd  I  swore  to  use  them  stoutly,  or  to  never  more 

restore  them ; 
Bade  farewell  to  sister,  mother,  and  to  one  than  either 

dearer, 
Then  departed,  as  the  firing  told  of  red-coats  drawing 

nearer. 

On  the  Britons  came  from  Concord — 'twas  &  name  of 
mocking  omen ; 

Concord  never  more  existed  'twixt  our  people  and 
the  foemen ; 

On  they  came  in  haste  from  Concord,  where  a  few 
had  stood  to  fight  them, 

Where  they  failed  to  conquer  Buttrick,  who  had 
stormed  the  bridge,  despite  tliem  ; 

On  they  came,  the  tools  of  tyrants,  'mid  a  people  who 
abhorred  them  ; 

They  had  done  their  master's  1  lidding,  and  we  pur- 
posed to  reward  them. 


198  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Twas  a  goodly  sight  to  see  them,  but  -we  heeded  not 

its  splendor, 
For  we  felt  their  martial  bearing  hate  within  oui 

hearts  engender, 
Kindling  fire  within  our  spirits,  though  our  eyes  a 

moment  watered, 
As  we  thought  on  Moore  and  Hadley,  and  their  brave 

companions  slaughtered ; 
And  we  swore  to  deadly  vengeance  for  the  fallen  to 

devote  them, 
And  our  rage  grew  hotter,  hotter,  as  our  well-aimed 

bullets  smote  them. 

When  to  Hardy's  Hill   their  weary,  waxing-fainter 

footsteps  brought  them, 
There  again  the  stout  Provincials  brought  the  wolves 

to  bay  and  fought  them  ; 
And  though  often  backward  beaten,  still  returned  the 

foe  to  follow, 
Making  forts  of  every  hill-top,  and  redoubts  of  every 

hollow. 
Hunters  came  from  every  farm-house,  joining  eagerly 

to  chase  them — 
They  had  boasted  far  too  often  that  we  ne'er  would 

dare  to  face  them. 

******** 

With  nine  hundred  came  Lord  Percy,  sent  by  startled 

Gage  to  meet  them, 
*ind  he  scoffed  at  those  who  suffered  such  a  horde  of 

boors  to  beat  them. 


FOR   READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS.  199 

But  his  scorn  was  changed  to  anger,  when  on  front 

and  flank  were  falling 
From  the  fences,  walls,  and  roadsides  drifts  of  leaden 

hail  appalling ; 
A.nd  his  picked  and  chosen  soldiers,  who  had  never 

shrunk  in  battle, 
Hurried  quicker  in  their  panic  when  they  heard  the 

firelocks  rattle. 

Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  Lord  Percy,  never  Ascalon  let 

hear  it, 
That  you  fled  from  those  you  taunted  as  devoid  of 

force  and  spirit; 
That  the  blacksmith,  weaver,  farmer,  leaving  forging, 

weaving,  tillage, 
Fully  paid  with  coin  of  bullets  base  marauder?   for 

their  pillage ; 
They,  you  said,  would  fly  in  terror,  Britons  and  their 

bayonets  shunning ; 
The  loudest  of  the  boasters  proved  the  foremost  in 

the  running. 

[nto  Boston   marched  their    forces,    musket-barrela 

brightly  gleaming, 
Colors  Hying,  sabres   Hashing,  drums  were  beating, 

fifes  were  screaming. 
Not  a  word  about  their  journey  ;  from  the  general  to 

the  drummer. 
Did  you  ask  about  their  doings,  than  a  statue  each 

was  dumber; 


200  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

But  the  wounded  in  their  litters,  lying  pallid,  weak, 

and  gory, 
With  a  language  clear  and  certain,  told  the  sanguinary 

story. 

******** 

On  the  day  the  fight  that  followed,  neighbor  met  and 
talked  with  neighbor ; 

First  the  few  who  fell  they  buried,  then  returned  to 
daily  labor. 

Glowed  the  fire  within  the  forges,  ran  the  plough- 
share down  the  furrow, 

Clicked  the  bobbin-shuttle — both  our  fight  and  toil 
was  thorough ; 

If  we  labored  in  the  battle,  or  the  shop,  or  forge,  01 
fallow, 

Still  came  an  honest  purpose,  casting  round  our  deeda 
a  halo. 

Though  they  strove  again,  these  minions  of  Germaino 

and  North  and  Gower, 
They  could  never  make  the  weakest  of  our  band 

before  them  cower ; 
Neither  England's  bribes  nor  soldiers,  force  of  arms, 

nor  titles  splendid, 
Could  deprive  of  what  our  fathers  left  as  right  to  bo 

defended. 
And  the  flame  from   Concord   spreading,  kindled 

kindred  conflagrations, 
Till  the  Colonies  United  took  their  place  among  the 

nations. 

Thomas  Dunn  English. 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  203 

OUR  LAND. 


THE  sun  shines  not  upon,  has  never  shone  upon  a 
land  where  human  happiness  is  so  widely  dis- 
seminated, where  human  government  is  so  little 
abused,  so  free  from  oppression,  so  invisible,  intangi- 
ble, and  yet  so  strong.  Nowhere  else  do  the  institu* 
tions  which  constitute  a  State  rest  upon  so  broad  a 
base  as  here,  and  nowhere  are  men  so  powerless  and 
institutions  so  strong.  In  the  wilderness  of  free 
minds  dissensions  will  occur,  and  in  the  unlimited 
discussion  in  writing  and  in  speech,  in  town  meet- 
ings, newspapers,  and  legislative  bodies,  angry  and 
menacing  language  will  be  used,  irritations  will  arise 
and  be  aggravated,  and  those  immediately  concerned 
in  the  strife,  or  breathing  its  atmosphere,  may  fear, 
or  feign  to  fear  that  danger  is  in  such  hot  breath  and 
passionate  resolves.  But  outside,  and  above,  and 
beyond  all  this  are  the  people,  steady,  industrious, 
self-possessed,  caring  little  for  abstractions  and  less 
for  abstractionists,  but  with  one  deep,  common  senti- 
ment, and  with  the  consciousness,  calm,  but  quite 
sure  and  earnest,  that  in  the  Constitution  and  the 
Union,  as  they  received  them  from  their  fathers,  and 
as  they  themselves  have  observed  and  maintained 
them,  is  the  sheet-anchor  of  their  hope,  the  pledge  of 
their  prosperity,  the  palladium  of  tlicir  liberty;  and 
with  this  is  that  other  consciousness,  not  less  calm 
and  not  less  earnest,  that  in  their  own  keeping  ex- 
clusively, and  not  in  that  of  any  party  leaders,  01 


202  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

party  demagogues,  or  political  hacks,  or  speculators, 
is  the  integrity  of  that  Union  and  that  Constitution 
It  is  in  the  strong  arms  and  honest  hearts  of  the  great 
masses,  and  these  masses,  though  slow  to  move,  are 
irresistible  when  the  time  and  the  occasion  for  moving 
come.  King. 

THE  FIGHTING  PARSON. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 


IT  was  brave  young  Parson  Webster, 
His  father  a  parson  before  him, 
And  here  in  this  town  of  Temple 
The  people  used  to  adore  him ; 
And  the  minute-men  from  all  quarters 

That  morning  had  grounded  their  arms 
'Round  the  meeting-house  on  the  hilltop, 
Looking  down  on  Temple  farms. 

Dear  to  the  Puritan  soldier 

The  food  which  his  meeting-house  offered, 
And  especially  dear  the  fine  manna 

Which  the  young  Temple  minister  proffered  J 
And  believe  as  he  might  in  his  firelock, 

His  bayonet,  or  his  sword, 
The  minute-man's  heart  was  hopeless 

If  not  filled  with  the  strength  of  the  Lord. 

The  minute-man  ever  and  always 

Waited  the  signal  of  warning, 
A.nd  he  never  dreamed  in  the  evening 

Where  his  prayers  would  ascend  the  next  morning . 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  205 

And  they  even  said  that  the  parson 

Undoubtedly  preached  his  best 
When  his  musket  stood  in  the  pulpit 

Ready  for  use  with  the  rest. 

Sad  was  the  minister's  message, 

And  many  a  heart  beat  faster, 
And  many  a  soft  eye  glistened, 

Whenever  the  voice  of  the  pastor 
Dwelt  on  the  absent  dear  ones 

Who  had  followed  their  country's  call 
To  the  distant  camp,  or  the  battle, 

Or  the  frowning  fortress-wall. 

And  now  when  near  to  "  fifteen  thly," 

And  the  urchins  thought  of  their  nuncheon. 
And  into  the  half-curtained  windows 

Hotter  and  hotter  the  sun  shone, 
And  the  redbreast  dozed  in  the  branches, 

And  the  crow  on  the  pine  tree's  top, 
And  the  squirrel  was  lost  in  his  musings, 

The  sermon  came  to  a  stop. 

For  sharp  on  the  turnpike  the  clatter 

Of  galloping  hoofs  resounded, 
And  the  granite  ring  of  the  roadway 

Louder  and  louder  sounded  ; 
And  now  no  longer  the  redbreast 

Was  inclined  to  be  dull  that  dayr 
And  now  no  longer  the  sexton 

Slept  in  his  usual  way. 


204  HOLIDAY    SELECTION* 

But  all  sprang  up  on  the  instant, 

And  the  widest  of  eyes  grew  wider, 
While  on  towards  the  porch,  like  a  tempest, 

Came  sweeping  the  horse  and  its  rider; 
And  now  from  the  din  of  the  hoof-beats 

A  trumpet  voice  leapt  out, 
And,  tingling  to  its  rafters, 

The  church  was  alive  with  the  shout, — 

"  Burgoyne's  at  Ticonderoga : 

Would  you  have  the  old  fojt  surrender?" 
"  No,  no  1"  cried  the  parson ;  "  New  Hampshire 

Will  send  the  last  man  to  defend  her.'" 
But  before  he  could  shoulder  his  musket 

A  Tory  sang  up  from  below, 
u  I  hear  a  great  voice  out  of  heaven,  sir, 

Warning  us  not  to  go." 

Quick  from  the  pulpit  descending, 

With  the  agile  step  of  a  lion, — 
"The  voice  you  hear  is  from  hell,  sir!" 

Replied  the  young  servant  of  Zion. 
And  out  through  the  open  doorway, 

And  on  past  the  porch  he  strode, 
And  the  congregation  came  after, 

And  gathered  beside  the  road. 

Sadly  enough  the  colonel, 

The  minute-men  all  arraying. 
From  the  dusty  cocked  hat  of  the  rider 

Drew  the  lots  for  going  or  staying. 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS 

Then  waving  his  hat  as  he  took  it, 
And  putting  the  spurs  to  his  mare, 

The  stranger  rode  off  to  New  Ipswich 
In  a  cheering  that  rent  the  air. 

Worse  than  the  shock  of  battle, 

Now  came  the  sad  leave-taking, 
And  to  mothers  and  maids  and  matrons 

The  deepest  of  grief  and  heart-aching ; 
And  far  on  the  road  through  the  mountain* 

"Whence  the  rider  had  just  come, 
They  followed  the  minute-men  marching 

To  the  sound  of  the  fife  and  the  drum. 

Long  dead  have  they  been  who  sat  there 

At  that  feast  of  things  eternal — 
Long  dead  the  laymen,  the  deacons, 

The  lawyer,  the  doctor,  the  colonel ; 
Long  dead  the  youths  and  the  maidens, 

And  long  on  the  graves  of  all 
Have  the  summers  and  the  winters 

Their  leaves  and  their  snows  let  fall. 

But  whenever  I  come  to  the  churchyard, 

Where,  by  the  side  of  the  pastor, 
They  afterwards  laid  the  colonel, 

His  friend  in  success  and  disaster, 
I  see  again  on  the  Common 

The  minute-men  all  in  array, 
And  again  I  behold  the  departure, 

The  pastor  leading  the  way. 


206  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

And  I  think  of  the  scene  when  his  comrad« 

Brought  back  the  young  pastor,  dying, 
To  his  home  in  the  house  of  the  colonel ; 

And  how,  on  his  death-bed  lying, 
He  took  the  hand  that  was  offered, 

And,  gazing  far  into  the  night, 
Whispered,  "  I  die  for  my  country — 

I  have  fought — I  have  fought  the  good  fight' 

Henry  Ames  Blood. 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES. 


THE  drums  are  beat,  the  trumpets  blow, 
The  black-mouthed  cannon  bay  the  foe, 
Dark,  bristling  o'er  each  murky  height, 
And  all  the  field  is  whirled  in  fight. 

The  long  life  in  the  drowsy  tent 

Fades  from  me  like  a  vision  spent — 

I  stand  upon  the  battle's  marge, 

And  watch  the  smoking  squadron's  charge 

Behold  one  starry  banner  reel 
With  that  wild  shock  of  steel  on  steel ; 
And  ringing  up  by  rock  and  tree 
At  last  the  cry  that  summons  me. 

I  hear  it  in  my  vibrant  soul, 
Deep  thundering  back  its  counter-roll ; 
And  all  life's  ore  seems  newly  wrought 
In  the  white  furnace  of  my  thought. 


FOR   READINGS     AND    RECITATIONS  207 

No  dream  that  made  my  dream  divine, 
But  flashes  hack  some  mystic  sign; 
And  every  shape  that  erst  was  bright 
Sweeps  by  me,  garmented  in  light 

High  legends  of  immortal  praise, 
Brows  of  world  heroes  bound  with  bays* 
The  crowned  majesties  of  Time 
Rise  visioned  on  my  soul  sublime. 

Dear  living  lips  of  love  and  prayer 

Sound  chanting  through  the  blackened  air; 

And  eyes  look  out  of  marble  tombs, 

And  hands  are  waved  from  churchyard  gloom 

'  Charge !  charge !" 
"We  pant,  we  speed,  we  leap,  we  fly ; 
I  feel  my  lifting  feet  aspire, 
As  I  were  born  of  wind  and  fire ! 

On !  on  !  where  wild  the  battle  swims, 
On  !  on  !  no  shade  my  vision  dims ; 
Transcendent  o'er  yon  smoky  wreath, 
I  see  the  glory  of  great  death  ! 

Come,  flashing  blade  and  hissing  ball, 
l  _'ive  my  blood,  my  breath,  my  all, 
So  that  on  yonder  rocking  height 
The  stars  and  stripes  may  wave  to-night 

LUCRETIA  G.  Nl  &LB. 


THANKSGIVING    DAY 


JERICHO  BOB. 

Permission  of  The  Century  Company. 


JERICHO  BOB,  when  he  was  four  years  old,  hoped 
that  one  day  he  might  be  allowed  to  eat  just  ag 
much  turkey  as  he  possibly  could.  He  was  eight 
now,  but  that  hope  had  not  been  realized. 

Mrs.  Jericho  Bob,  his  mother,  kept  hens  for  a  liv- 
ing, and  she  expected  that  they  would  lay  enough 
eggs  in  the  course  of  time  to  help  her  son  to  an  inde- 
pendent career  as  a  bootblack. 

They  lived  in  a  tumble-down  house  in  a  waste  of 
land  near  the  steam  cars,  and  besides  her  hens  Mrs, 
Bob  owned  a  goat. 

Our  story  has,  however,  nothing  to  do  with  the 
goat  except  to  say  he  was  there,  and  that  he  was  on 
nibbling  terms,  not  only  with  Jericho  Bob,  but  with 
Bob's  bosom  friend,  Julius  Caesar  Fish,  and  it  was 
surprising  how  many  old  hat-brims  and  other  tid- 
bits of  clothing  he  could  swallow  during  a  day. 

As  Mrs.  Bob  truly  said,  it  was  no  earthly  us*  to 
208 


FOR    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  209 

get  something  new  for  Jericho,  even  if  she  could 
afford  it;  for  the  goat  browsed  all  over  him,  and 
had  been  known  to  carry  away  even  a  leg  of  his 
trousers. 

Jericho  Bob  was  eight  years  old,  and  the  friend  of 
his  bosom,  Julius  Caesar  Fish,  was  nine.  They  were 
bo  much  alike  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Jericho's  bow- 
legs and  his  turn-up  nose,  you  really  could  not  have 
told  them  apart. 

A  kindred  taste  for  turkey  also  united  them. 

In  honor  of  Thanksgiving  day  Mrs.  Bob  always 
sacrificed  a  hen  which  would,  but  for  such  blessed 
release,  have  died  of  old  age.  One  drumstick  was 
given  to  Jericho,  whose  interior  remained  an  unsatis- 
fied void. 

Jericho  Bob  had  heard  of  turkey  as  a  fowl  larger, 
sweeter,  and  mere  tender  than  hen ;  and  about 
Thanksgiving  time  he  would  linger  around  the  pro- 
vision stores  and  gaze  with  open  mouth  at  the  noble 
array  of  turkeys  hanging  head  downward  over  bush- 
els of  cranberries,  as  if  even  at  that  uncooked  stage, 
they  were  destined  for  one  another.  And  turkey  was 
his  dream. 

It  was  spring-time,  and  the  hens  were  being  a 
credit  to  themselves.  The  goat  in  the  yard,  tied  to  a 
stake,  was  varying  a  meal  of  old  shoe  and  tomato- 
can  by  a  nibble  of  fresh  green  grass.  Mrs.  Bob  was 
laid  up  with  rheumatism. 

"  Jericho  Bob !"  she  said  to  her  son,  shaking  her 
red  and  yellow  turban  at  him,  "  Jericho  Bob,  you  go 
down  an'  fetch  de  eggs  to-day.     Ef  I  find  yir  don't 
14 


210  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

bring  me  twenty-three,  111— well,  never  mind  what 
I'll  do,  but  yer  won't  like  it." 

Now,  Jericho  Bob  meant  to  be  honest,  but  the  fad 
was  he  found  twenty-four,  and  the  twenty-fourth  waa 
so  big,  so  remarkably  big. 

Twenty-three  eggs  he  brought  to  Mrs.  Bob,  but  the 
twenty-fourth  he  sinfully  left  in  charge  of  the  discreet 
hen. 

On  his  return  he  met  Julius  Csesar  Fish,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  head  extinguished  by 
his  grandfather's  fur  cap. 

Together  they  went  toward  the  hen-coop,  and  Ju- 
lius Csesar  Fish  spoke,  or  rather  lisped  (he  had  lost 
some  of  his  front  teeth)  : 

"  Jericho  Bobth,  tha'th  a  turkey'th  egg." 

"  Yer  don't  say  so  ?" 

"  I  think  i'th  a-goin'  ter  hatch."  No  sooner  said 
than  they  heard  a  pick  and  a  peck  in  the  shell. 

"  Pick !"  a  tiny  beak  broke  through  the  shelL 
*  Peck !"  more  beak.  "  Crack  !"  a  funny  little  head, 
a  long,  bare  neck,  and  then  "  Pick !  peck !  crack !" 
before  them  stood  the  funniest,  fluffiest  brown  ball 
resting  on  two  weak  little  legs. 

"  Hooray  I"  shouted  the  woolly  heads. 

"  Peep  !"  said  turkeykin. 

"  It's  mine !"  Jericho  shouted  excitedly. 

"  I'th  Mann  Pitkin'th  turkey'th  ;  she  laid  it  there 

"  It's  mine,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  it,  and  next 
Thanksgiving  I'm  going  ter  eat  him." 

"  Think  your  ma'll  let  you  feed  him  up  for  thath  ?* 
Julius  Caesar  asked,  triumphantly. 


n 


FOR    READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  Ml 

Jericho  Bob's  next  Thanksgiving  dinner  seemed 
destined  to  be  a  dream.     His  face  fell. 

"  111  tell  yer  whath  I'll  do,"  his  friend  said,  be- 
nevolently ;  "  111  keep'm  for  you,  and  Thanksgivin' 
well  go  halvth." 

Jericho  resigned  himself  to  the  inevitable,  and  the 
infant  turkey  was  borne  home  by  his  friend. 

Fish,  Jr.,  lived  next  door,  and  the  only  difference 
in  the  premises  was  a  freight-car  permanently 
switched  off  before  the  broken-down  fence  of  the 
Fish  yard ;  and  in  this  car  turkeykin  took  up  his 
abode. 

I  will  not  tell  you  how  he  grew  and  more  than 
realized  the  hopes  of  his  foster-fathers,  nor  with  what 
impatience  and  anticipation  they  saw  spring,  sum- 
mer, and  autumn  pass,  while  they  watched  their 
Thanksgiving  dinner  stalk  proudly  up  the  bare  yard 
and  even  hop  across  the  railroad  tracks. 

But,  alas !  the  possession  of  the  turkey  brought 
with  it  strife  and  discord. 

Quarrels  arose  between  the  friends  as  to  the  pros- 
pective disposal  of  his  remains.  We  grieve  to  say 
that  the  question  of  who  was  to  cook  him  led  to 
blows. 

It  was  the  day  before  Thanksgiving.  There  was  a 
coldness  between  the  friends  which  was  not  dispelled 
by  the  bringing  of  a  pint  of  cranberries  to  the  com- 
mon store  by  Jericho,  and  the  contributing  thereto  of 
a  couple  of  cold-boiled  sweet  potatoes  by  Julius 
Ceesar  Fish. 

The  friends  sat  on  an  ancient  wash-tub  in  the  back 


212  HOLIDAY   SELECTIONS 

yard,  and  there  was  a  momentary  truce  between 
them.  Before  them  stood  the  freight-car,  and  along 
the  track  beyond  an  occasional  train  tore  down  the 
road,  which  so  far  excited  their  mutual  sympathy 
that  they  rose  and  shouted  as  one  man. 

At  the  open  door  of  the  freight-car  stood  the  un- 
suspecting turkey  and  looked  meditatively  out  on 
the  landscape  and  at  the  two  figures  on  the  wash-tub. 

One  had  bow-legs,  a  turn-up  nose,  and  a  huge 
straw  hat.  The  other  wore  a  fur  cap  and  a  gentle- 
man's swallow-tail  coat,  with  the  tails  caught  up  be- 
cause they  were  too  long. 

The  turkey  hopped  out  of  the  car  and  gazed  con- 
fidingly at  his  protectors.  In  point  of  size  he  was 
altogether  their  superior. 

"  I  think,"  said  Jericho  Bob, "  we'd  better  ketch  'im. 
To-morrow's  Thanksgiving.     Yum  !" 

And  he  looked  with  great  joy  at  the  innocent,  the 
unsuspecting  fowl. 

"Butcher  Tham  'th  goin'  ter  kill  'im  for  uth," 
Julius  Caesar  hastened  to  say,  "  an'  I  kin  cook  'im." 

"  No,  you  aint.  I'm  goin'  to  cook  'im,"  Jericho 
Bob  cried,  resentfully.     "  He's  mine." 

"  He  ainth  ;  he'th  mine." 

"  He  was  my  egg,"  and  Jericho  Bob  danced  de- 
fiance at  his  friend. 

The  turkey  looked  on  with  some  surprise,  and  ho 
became  alarmed  when  he  saw  his  foster-fatheri 
clasped  in  an  embrace  more  of  anger  than  of  love. 

"  I'll  eat  'im  all  alone  !"  Jericho  Bob  cried 

"  No,  yer  sha'n't !"  the  other  shouted. 


FOR    READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  213 

The  turkey  shrieked  in  terror  and  fled  in  a  circle 
•bout  the  yard. 

"  Now,  look  yere,"  said  Julius  Caesar,  who  had 
conquered,  "  we're  goin'  to  be  squar'.  He  wath  your 
egg,  but  who  brought  'im  up  ?  Me !  Who'th  got  a 
friend  to  kill  'im  ?  Me  !  Who'th  got  a  fire  to  cook 
'im  ?  Me  !  Now  you  git  up  and  we'll  kitch  'im.  Ef 
you  thay  another  word  about  your  egg  I'll  jeth  eat 
'im  up  all  mythelf." 

Jericho  Bob  was  conquered.  With  mutual  under, 
standing  they  approached  the  turkey. 

"  Come  yere ;  come  yere,"  Julius  Caesar  said,  coax- 

ingly- 

For  a  moment  the  bird  gazed  at  both,  uncertain 

what  to  do. 

"  Come  yere,"  Julius  Csesar  repeated,  and  made  a 
dive  for  him.  The  turkey  spread  his  tail.  Oh ! 
didn't  he  run. 

"  Now  I've  got  yer !"  the  wicked  Jericho  Bob  cried, 
and  thought  he  had  captured  the  fowl,  when  with  a 
shriek  from  Jericho  Bob,  as  the  turkey  knocked  him 
over,  the  Thanksgiving  dinner  spread  his  wings,  rose 
in  the  air,  and  alighted  on  the  roof  of  the  freight-car. 

The  turkey  looked  down  over  the  edge  of  the  car 
at  his  enemies,  and  they  gazed  up  at  him.  Both 
parties  surveyed  the  situation. 

"  We've  got  him,"  Julius  Caesar  cried  at  last,  ex- 
ultantly. "  You  git  on  the  roof,  and  ef  you  don't 
kitch  'im  up  thar,  I'll  kitch  'im  down  yere." 

With  the  help  of  the  wash-tub,  an  old  chair, 
Julius  Caesar's  back,  and  much  scrambling,  Jericho 


214  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

Bob  was  hoisted  on  top  of  the  car.  The  turkey  wa* 
stalking  solemnly  up  and  down  the  roof  with  tail 
and  wings  half  spread. 

"  I've  got  yer  now,"  Jericho  Bob  said,  creeping 
softly  after  him.  "  I've  got  yer  now,  sure,"  he  was 
just  repeating,  when  with  a  deafening  roar  the  ex- 
press train  for  New  York  came  tearing  down  the  road. 

For  what  possible  reason  it  slowed  up  on  ap- 
proaching the  freight-car  nobody  ever  knew,  but  the 
fact  remains  that  it  did  just  as  Jericho  Bob  laid  his 
wicked  black  paw  on  the  turkey's  tail. 

The  turkey  shrieked,  spread  his  wings,  shook  the 
small  black  boy's  grasp  from  his  tail,  and  with  a 
mighty  swoop  alighted  on  the  roof  of  the  very  last 
car  as  it  passed,  and  in  a  moment  more  Jericha 
Bob's  Thanksgiving  dinner  had  vanished,  like  3 
beautiful  dream,  down  the  road. 

What  became  of  that  Thanksgiving  dinner  no  one 
ever  knew.  If  you  happen  to  meet  a  traveling 
turkey  without  any  luggage,  but  with  a  smile  on  his 
countenance,  please  send  word  to  Jericho  Bob. 

Anna  Eichberg  King. 


DAISY'S  THANKSGIVING. 

Permission  of  The  Youth's  Companion. 


"VTOW  kitten-cat  Daisy,  just  hear  me, 
■i-i      And  'tend  to  each  word  that  I  say, 
And  don't  frisk  around  so  'bout  nothing, 
To-morrow'll  be  Thanksgiving  Day. 


FOR   READINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  215 

And  if  you  don't  chew  up  your  ribbon, 

Nor  dabble  it  round  in  the  snow, 
But  behave  all  the  time,  just  as  pretty, 

You'll  have  something  splendid,  you  know. 

There's  another  thing,  Daisy,  I'll  tell  you, 

Aunt  Mary  is  coming  to-day, 
To  show  us  a  sweet,  darling  baby 

That's  named  just  like  me — Allie  May. 
And  if  it  should  happen  to  squeeze  you, 

Or  pull  your  long  tail  the  least  mite, 
You  are  not  to  scratch  her  nor  bite  her, 

For  that  wouldn't  be  just  polite. 

We  must  do  all  we  can  that'll  please  her, 

She  being  our  company  so ; 
Besides,  such  a  new  little  baby 

Ain't  had  time  to  learn  better,  you  know. 
80  if  she  does  tease  you,  dear  Daisy, 

Though,  of  course,  I  don't  say  it  is  right, 
Please  just  get  away  from  her  easy, 

Not  scratching  the  least  little  mite. 


*» 


I  s'pose  you  don't  know  'bout  Thanksgiving, 

'Cause  you  haven't  had  one  before  ; 
I'll  tell  you  :  there'll  be  a  big  turkey, 

And  pie  made  of  chickens, — and  mora 
And  puddings  all  full  of  sweet  raisins, 

And  jelly  and  jam — such  a  treat! 
And  if  you're  a  good  kitten,  Daisy, 

You'll  get  a  plate  full  to  eat. 


216  HOLIDAY   SELECTIONS 

MARGIE'S  THANKSGIVING. 


*  TT7ITH  salt  and  potatoes  and  meal  for  bread, 
»  »       We  needn't  be  hungry  to-day,"  she  said. 
"  Though  I  cannot  stir  from  this  queer  old  chair, 
I  look  at  the  cupboard  and  know  they're  there; 
And  mother  has  left  this  lunch  by  me ; 
How  thankful  I  am  for  it  all,"  said  she. 

1  With  coal  for  the  stove,  and  a  quilt  for  the  bed, 

We  needn't  be  chilly  to-day,"  she  said ; 

u  For  as  long  as  my  arms  and  back  don't  tire, 

I  can  reach  very  well  to  feed  the  fire ; 

And  mother  '11  be  home  to  an  early  tea; 

How  thankful  I  am  for  it  all,"  said  she. 

u  There's  only  one  thing  that  I  really  dread, 
And  that  is  the  pain  in  my  back,"  she  said ; 
"  But  it's  better,  a  great  deal  better,  I  know, 
Than  it  was  at  the  first,  three  months  ago; 
And  the  doctor  is  ever  so  kind  to  me ; 
How  thankful  I  am  for  it  all,"  said  she. 

"And  by  and  by,  when  the  winter  is  dead, 
He  thinks  I'll  be  almost  well,"  she  said; 
"And  I'll  have  some  crutches  and  walk,  and  then 
I  can  get  the  dinners  for  mother  again ; 
And,  oh  !  how  glad  and  happy  we'll  be ! 
How  thankful  I  am  for  it  all,"  said  she. 

E.S.  Bumsteai* 


FOR   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  217 


POLLY'S  THANKSGIVING. 

Permission  of  The  Youth's  Companion. 


SUCH  a  fanny  little  roly-poly  Polly  as  she  was, 
with  her  big  china-blue  eyes  that  were  forever 
seeing  something  to  wonder  about,  and  her  round, 
red  cheeks  that  always  grew  redder  when  anybody 
spoke  to  her,  and  her  crinkly  flaxen  hair  that  never 
would  stay  in  place.  Such  a  queer  little  dumpling 
of  a  Polly! 

All  the  same,  she  liked  nice  things  to  eat  as  well  as 
any  one  could,  and  when,  once  upon  a  time,  some- 
body gave  her  the  measles  just  in  season  for  Thanks- 
giving  Day,  she  felt  dreadfully  about  it,  and  cried  as 
hard  as  she  knew  how  because  she  couldn't  have  any 
turkey,  nor  pudding,  nor  mince-pie  for  dinner — noth- 
ing at  all  but  oatmeal  gruel. 

But  crying  didn't  help  the  measles  a  mite,  as  of 
course  Polly  knew  it  wouldn't,  but  she  couldn't  have 
helped  crying  if  she  wanted  to,  and  she  didn't 
want  to. 

"  'Most  anybody'd  cried,  I  wouldn't  wonder,"  she 
said,  a  day  or  two  after,  when  the  measles  had  begun 
to  go  away  again,  "  not  to  have  a  mite  of  any 
Thanksgiving  for  dinner,  not  any  pie,  not  any  cran- 
b'ry  sauce,  not  any — 0  de-ar !" 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Polly's  mother,  laughing,  u  I 
guess  we'll  have  to  have  another  Thanksgiving  Day 
right  ofL" 


218  H0LILAV    SELECTIONS 

"Oh!  can  we?"  cried  Polly,  brightening  up. 

"  Not  without  the  governor  says  so,"  answered  hei 
father,  with  a  twinkle.  "  The  governor  makes 
Thanksgiving  Days,  Polyanthus." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?"  asked  Polly,  with  an  ear- 
nestness that  was  funny.     Everybody  laughed. 

"At  the  capital,"  said  Polly's  Uncle  Ben  Davis, 
•'Do  you  know  where  that  is?" 

"  I  guess  I  do,"  said  Polly,  and  she  asked  no  more 
questions. 

But  what  do  you  guess  this  funny  Polly  did  ?  By 
and  by,  when  she  felt  quite  like  herself  again,  she 
borrowed  pencil  and  paper  and  shut  herself  up  in  her 
own  little  room  and  wrote  a  letter  that  looked  a  little 
imeer,  'tis  true,  but  still  made  her  wishes  known. 

"  DeRe  MisTeR  Guvnor  will  yOu  PLeAse  Makh 

AnoTHeR  Thanksgiving  DAy  be  caws  I  haD  THE 

MEESLES  the  LAst  One. 

"  Polly  Pinkham." 

Then  she  folded  the  letter  and  put  it  in  an  enve- 
lope, with  one  of  her  chromo  cards,  and  sealed  it, 
and  took  two  cents  out  of  her  bank  for  the  postage 
and  ran  away  to  the  post-office  as  fast  as  she  could 
run. 

Mr.  Willey  kept  the  post-office,  and  if  he  himself 
had  been  behind  the  glass  boxes  that  day,  I  don't 
believe  Polly's  letter  ever  would  have  gone  out  of 
Tinkerville.  But  Mr.  Willey's  niece  was  there.  She 
read  the  address  on  the  envelope  Polly  handed  in, 
and  her  eyes  danced.     It  looked  so  funny : 


FOR   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  219 

*  Mister  GuvXER,  at  the  CAPITLE." 

One  or  two  questions  brought  out  the  whole  story. 

"  The  governor  shall  have  your  letter,  Polly," 
roguish  Miss  Molly  said,  with  a  laugh,  as  she  stamped 
it  and  wrote  the  postmark  plain  as  plain  could  he. 

And  so  he  did.  For,  not  quite  a  week  later,  a  let- 
ter came  in  the  mail  to  Polly — a  great,  white  letter 
with  a  picture  in  one  corner  that  made  Polly's  father 
open  his  eyes. 

"Why,  it's  the  State's  arms,"  said  he.  "What 
ander  the  sun — " 

But  I  think  he  suspected.  Oh !  how  red  Polly's 
cheek.3  were,  and  how  her  small  fingers  trembled 
when  »he  tore  open  her  letter.  It  was  printed  so 
that  she  could  read  it  herself,  all  but  the  long  words. 

"  Dear  Miss  Polly  : — Your  letter  received.  I  am 
very  sorry  you  were  so  ill  as  not  to  be  able  to  eat 
any  Thanksgiving  dinner.  It  was  quite  too  bad.  I 
hereby  appoint  a  special  Thanksgiving  Day  for  you 
— next  Thursday,  December  9th — which  I  trust  may 
be  kept  with  due  form. 

"  Your  friend  and  well-wisher, 

"Andrew  Colburn." 

"  Oh  1  oh  !  oh  !"  cried  Polly,  hopping  on  one  foot, 
"will  you  mother?  0  mother!  will  you?  I  wrote 
to  him  myself.     Oh  !  I'm  so  glad." 

"Did  you  ever!"  cried  Polly's  mother.  "Why, 
Polly  Pinkluun  !"  But  Tolly's  father  slapped  hia 
knee  and  laughed. 

•'  Good  for  Governor  Colbura  I    111  vote  for  him 


220  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 

is  long  as  he  wants  a  vote.  And  Polly  shall  hava 
\  special  Thanksgiving  worth  telling  of,  so  she 
ihall." 

And  so  she  did  have,  the  very  best  she  ever  re« 
nembered. 

A.  C.  Stoddabd. 


THANKSGIVING. 


THANKS  be  to  God !  to  whom  earth  owes 
Sunshine  and  breeze, 
The  heath-clad  hill,  the  vale's  repose, 

Streamlet  and  seas, 
The  snowdrop  and  the  summer  rose, 
The  many-voiced  trees. 

Thanks  for  the  darkness  that  reveals 

Night's  starry  dower; 
And  for  the  sable  cloud  that  heals 

Each  fevered  flower ; 
And  for  the  rushing  storm  that  peals 

Our  weakness  and  Thy  power. 

Thanks  for  the  sweetly-lingering  might 

In  music's  tone ; 
For  paths  of  knowledge,  whose  calm  light 

Is  all  thine  own ; 
For  thoughts  that  at  the  Infinite 

Fold  their  bright  wings  alone. 


FOR   PKA.DINGS    AND   RECITATIONS  221 

Yet  thanks  ihat  silence  oft  may  flow 

in  dewlii>  e  store : 
Thanks  for  the  mysteries  that  show 

How  srcw.ll  our  lore ; 
Thanks  tliat  we  here  so  little  know 

And  trust  Thee  all  the  more  I 

Thanks  for  the  gladness  that  entwines 

Our  path  below ; 
Each  sunrise  that  incarnadines 

The  cold,  still  snow  ; 
Thanks  for  the  light  of  love  which  shines 

With  brightest  earthly  glow. 

Thanks  for  Thine  own  thrice-blessed  Word, 

And  Sabbath  rest ; 
Thanks  for  the  hope  of  glory  stored 

In  mansions  blest ; 
Thanks  for  the  Spirit's  comfort  poured 

Into  the  trembling  breast. 

Thanks,  more  thanks,  to  Him  ascend, 

Who  died  to  win 
Our  life,  and  every  trophy  rend 

From  Death  and  Sin  ; 
Till,  when  the  thanks  of  earth  shall  end, 

The  tnanks  of  Heaven  begin. 

F.  R.  II A VKROAL 


223  HOLIDAY    SELECTIONS 


THE  TWILIGHT  OF  THANKSGIVING; 

Permission  of  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal. 

THE  day  has  lengthened  into  eve, 
And  over  all  the  meadows 
The  twilight's  silent  shuttles  weave 

Their  sombre  web  of  shadows  ; 
With  northern  lights  the  cloudless  ski«B 

Are  faintly  phosphorescent, 
And  just  above  yon  wooded  rise 
The  new  moon  shows  her  crescent. 

Before  the  evening  lamps  are  lit, 

While  day  and  night  commingle, 
The  sire  and  matron  come  and  sit 

Beside  the  cozy  ingle ; 
And  softly  speak  of  the  delight 

Within  their  bosoms  swelling, 
Because  beneath  their  roof  to-night 

Their  dear  ones  all  are  dwelling. 

And  when  around  the  cheerful  blaze 

The  young  folks  take  their  places, 
What  blissful  dreams  of  other  days 

Light  up  their  aged  faces ! 
The  past  returns  with  all  its  joys, 

And  they  again  are  living 
The  years  in  which,  as  girls  and  boyi. 

Their  children  kept  Thanksgiving. 


FOR    READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS  223 

The  stalwart  son  recalls  the  time 

When,  urged  to  the  endeavor, 
He  tried  the  well-greased  pole  to  climb, 

And  failed  of  fame  forever. 
The  daughter  tells  of  her  emprise 

When,  as  a  new  beginner, 
She  helped  her  mother  make  the  pies 

For  the  Thanksgiving  dinner. 

And  thus  with  laugh  and  jest  and  song, 

And  tender  recollections, 
Love  speeds  the  happy  hours  along, 

And  fosters  fond  affections ; 
While  Fancy,  listening  to  the  mirth, 

And  dreaming  pleasant  fictions, 
Imagines  through  the  winds  on  earth 

That  heaven  breathes  benedictions. 

William  D.  Kelly. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  "below 


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Oft  l  a 


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DEC  U 1988 

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